THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


EDITH     HALE: 


A  VILLAGE    STORY. 


BY 


THRACE    TALMON. 


BOSTON: 
PHILLIPS,  SAMPSON  &  COMPANY, 

No.   13  WINTER  STEBBT. 

1856. 


\  v 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

PHILLIPS,   SAMPSON  4   COMPANY, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


S:«reot7ped   by 
HOBART    *    BOBBINS, 
nw  noun  tm  AID  irmorm 
MMMh 


TO 


THIS     BOOK 


IS    BESPBCirCLLY    INSCRIBBD    BY 


THE  AUTHOR. 


1692610 


EDITH    HALE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE    STUDENT. 

IN  the  village  of  Waterbury  there  were  four  Gothic  cottages 
standing  in  a  row,  and  so  nearly  were  they  alike  in  construc- 
tion and  color,  it  required  open-day  familiarity,  or  a  careful 
recollection  of  some  slight  peculiarities,  to  identify  one  from 
the  other.  To  one  of  these  was  a  young  girl  returning  home 
early  on  a  Saturday  evening.  She  had  already  passed  a 
handsome  mansion,  the  finest  in  that  vicinity,  and  which,  but 
a  brief  while  since,  had  been  her  own  pleasant  home. 

A  deep  sigh  escaped  from  her  heart,  —  not  so  much  for  the 
memory  of  her  altered  fortunes,  as  for  her  afflicted  mother, 
who  was  all  now  left  to  her  in  the  world.  She  quickened  her 
step,  recalling  how  lonely  her  mother  must  be  at  that  hour 
without  her  presence,  and  soon  entered  one  of  the  cottages, 
with  words  of  love  and  encouragement  upon  her  lips. 


8  EDITH     HALE. 

It  was  just  that  time  when  many  persons  prefer  to  waste 
the  moments  in  the  dusky,  dreamy  uncertainty  of  twilight, 

"  Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted," 

and,  as  Edith  emerged  from  the  clearer  light  without  into  the 
darkened  room,  she  could  discern  but  imperfectly  the  figure 
of  her  mother,  as  she  thought,  sitting  in  the  chair  which  she 
usually  occupied.  Edith  believed  she  was  weeping,  as  she 
often  surprised  her  of  late.  Hastening  to  the  side  of  the 
chair,  she  threw  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  the  one  who  sat 
there,  and  imprinted  an  earnest,  affectionate  kiss  upon  the 
brow.  She  now  started  suddenly,  as  if  she  had  encountered 
a  peril,  and  with  a  voice  of  affright  demanded  who  was  there. 

"  Doubtless  there  is  some  mistake  here,"  returned  a  quiet, 
manly  voice. 

"  I  thought  it  was  my  mother,"  said  Edith,  overwhelmed 
with  confusion.  "  What  have  I  done? " 

"  No  harm,  certainly ;  you  might  have  done  worse,"  replied 
the  same  voice,  in  a  tone  of  mingled  pleasantry  and  curiosity. 

At  this  crisis,  the  door  of  an  adjoining  room  opened,  and  a 
lady  entered  with  lights. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Goodwin,"  exclaimed  Edith.  "  I  thought, 
surely,  I  was  in  our  own  home." 

She  now  saw  that  the  person  she  had  mistaken  for  her 
mother  was  a  gentleman,  and  a  stranger.  But  as  he  was  study- 
ing her  attentively,  she  bestowed  only  a  glance.  She  vainly 
essayed  to  summon  words  for  an  apology,  the  tears  rushed 
to  her  eyes,  and  she  blushed  carnation. 


EDITIIHALE.  9 

"  If  you  have  got  into  the  wrong  pew  for  once,  it  is  of  no 
consequence,"  said  Mrs.  Goodwin,  perceiving  nothing  but  a 
common  mistake  in  the  matter.  "  Let  me  introduce  you  to 
Mr.  Wellmont,  who  has  come  to  preach  for  us  to-morrow  — 
Miss  Hale,  a  next-door  neighbor  of  ours,"  she  added  to  the 
gentleman. 

Edith  merely  bowed  in  return  to  Mr.  Wellmont's  courteous 
salutation,  and  moved  toward  the  door  to  effect  her  escape  as 
easily  as  possible. 

"  Don't  leave  so  soon,"  continued  Mrs.  Goodwin,  who, 
being  the  wife  of  a  deacon,  felt  it  more  than  usually  incum- 
bent on  her  to  press  her  hospitalities  on  such  an  occasion; 
"  Mr.  Wellmont  would  be  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  I 
dare  say." 

Before  the  gentleman  could  add  his  assent,  Edith  had  ex- 
cused herself  briefly,  and  vanished  like  a  shadow. 

"  Beautiful  as  the  angel  of  a  dream !  "  thought  the  young 
minister,  when  Mrs.  Goodwin  had  left  him  once  more  alone. 

A  new  and  strange  delight  filled  his  soul,  and  he  was  even 
yet  inspired  with  the  presence  of  that  mistaken  caress.  A 
hundred  times,  that  evening,  at  least,  he  imagined  his  neck 
encircled  lovingly,  and  his  forehead  pressed  by  those  warm, 
rosy  lips,  which  he  had  seen  tremulous  with  surprise  and 
mortification. 

On  the  next  day,  which  was  the  Sabbath,  the  house  of 
worship  appeared  scarcely  less  attractive  to  the  people  than 
a  flower-garden  to  insects  with  parti-colored  wings.  On  every 
hand  they  assembled,  as  if  the  gate  of  the  temple  called  Beau- 


10  E  D  I  T  II     II  A  L  E  . 

tiful  were  newly  unclosed.  A  candidate  fresh  from  the 
theological  institution  was  expected. 

For  some  time  the  people  had  held  themselves  in  readiness 
for  the  right  one  to  minister  to  them  in  holy  things ;  but, 
being  somewhat  cautious  in  their  selection,  the  situation  yet 
remained  open  for  the  ambition  of  any  aspirant. 

The  fame  of  the  new  preacher  had  preceded  him  by  weeks. 
They  had  heard  how,  while  struggling  with  poverty  to  obtain 
an  education,  he  used  to  sacrifice  his  pride  to  self-denial,  — 
wear  a  straw  hat  with  broken  braids,  shut  himself  in  his  closet 
to  use  the  needle,  walk  thirty  miles  of  a  night  to  visit  his 
widowed  mother ;  how,  later,  he  had  excelled  all  his  fellow- 
students  in  his  acquirements,  and  that  for  his  style,  which  was 
wonderfully  imbued  with  that  charm  which  moves  all  hearts, 
he  had  received  warm  encomiums  from  certain  distinguished 
men,  who  declared  he  was  much  too  fine  a  fellow  to  wear  a 
black  coat,  and  go  in  and  out  upon  the  "  treadmill  of  a  pulpit," 
with  the  salary  of  a  few  hundred  a  year. 

Something  of  this  lingered  in  the  thoughts  of  many  who 
sat  waiting  for  the  opening  of  the  services.  Something,  too, 
of  the  new  spring  hats  and  shawls  was  in  the  thoughts  of 
many  more. 

Up  a  side  aisle  now  came  one  of  those  ladies  who  are  to 
be  found  more  or  less  over  the  civilized  world.  She  was  a 
single  lady  of  middle  age,  and  a  perfect  terror  to  evil- 
doers. The  children  who  sat  in  the  pew  before  her  composed 
themselves  into  decorum  as  soon  as  they  heard  the  rustle  of 
her  garments,  venting  their  inward  titillation  by  nudging  each 


EDITHHALE.  11 

others'  elbows,  and  exchanging  glances  from  the  corners  of 
their  eyes.  Even  their  elders  could  not  rid  themselves  of  the 
feeling  that  they  were  under  the  watch-care  of  Miss  Leah,  and 
that  she  would  be  first  to  know  it  if  they  dropped  off  to  nap- 
ping. Altogether,  Miss  Leah  Shaw  was  such  an  one  as 
deserves  especial  prominence  among  her  sex,  and  it  would 
have  seemed  befitting  to  have  given  her  a  reserved,  central 
elevation  in  church,  as  distinguished  worthies  sometimes  had 
in  Puritan  times.  She  was  never  so  much  engrossed  with 
other  people,  however,  as  to  lose  a  word  of  the  discourse ;  and 
copious  notes  were  taken  in  a  thin,  dark-covered  book,  which 
she  invariably  carried  to  church. 

This  custom  was  imitated  by  another  lady  of  the  congrega- 
tion. She  was  not  single,  but  a  wife  without  children.  It 
was  necessary  to  mention  that  she  had  a  husband,  else  but 
few  would  have  mistrusted  the  fact ;  for  Mr.  Simon  Witherell 
was  a  meek  man,  and  shrunk  from  appearing  in  his  wife's 
overblowing  shadow,  except  on  Sundays,  when  he  walked  care- 
fully into  church,  and,  being  seated,  covered  with  his  hand 
the  side  of  his  face  next  the  head  of  the  pew.  In  the  midst 
of  hard  breathing,  sometimes  he  made  such  an  unusual  demon- 
stration of  his  individuality  as  a  sudden  spring,  when  the  toe 
of  his  boot  was  jogged  unceremoniously  by  his  wife's  gaiter. 
In  but  one  office  was  he  her  helpmeet ;  he  carried  her  note- 
book to  and  from  church  in  the  dorsal  pocket  of  his  coat. 

Amid  the  various  reflections  of  the  congregation  which 
cumbered  the  air  of  this  Sabbath  morning,  a  hush  suddenly 
pervaded  the  house.  The  figure  of  a  stranger  advanced  up 


12  EDITH     HALE. 

' 

the  aisle,  and,  with  a  gentle  tread,  ascended  the  pulpit 
steps. 

"  How  handsome  he  is !  "  whispered  one  young  lady  to 
another. 

"  He  '11  turn  half  of  our  young  girls'  heads,"  inwardly 
murmured  Deacon  Dennis. 

The  new  speaker  began  to  read ;  his  voice  was  solemn  and 
powerful,  but  he  spoke  as  though  much  was  still  in  reserve, 
and  he  had  a  habit  of  looking  about  him  as  unconcernedly 
as  though  each  new  face  were  but  a  book  on  his  library- 
shelves.  Miss  Leah  afterward  said  of  this,  that  she  liked 
the  way  of  a  minister  looking  about  upon  the  faces  of 
his  people,  and  of  all  things  it  made  her  the  most  uncom- 
fortable to  have  a  minister  look  first  on  one  wall  and  then  on 
the  other,  on  one  window  and  then  to  the  opposite,  as  though 
he  were  trying  to  spy  out  cobwebs  instead  of  the  sins  of  the 
people. 

It  was  soon  evident  the  young  man  had  power.  Others  had 
stood  in  that  place  before  who  had  aroused  and  interested 
their  auditors ;  but  now  the  depths  of  their  souls  were  moved 
as  though  troubled  by  an  angel.  Yet  he  displayed  none  of 
the  tricks  of  oratory ;  made  few  gestures,  but  stood  like  a 
living  statue  of  Tranquillity,  sublimely  directing  all  eyes 
toward  heaven. 

"  This  ere  is  what  I  call  preachin'  the  Gospel,"  said  Father 
Shaw,  —  father  of  people  in  general,  and  of  Miss  Leah  in 
particular,  —  as  he  left  the  church  at  the  conclusion  of  the 
exercises. 


EDITH     HALE.  13 

• 

a  ies,"  said  Dr.  Humphrey,  "  the  young  man  has  not  been 
too  highly  recommended,  I  think." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Zephaniah  Wilkins,  who  overheard  their  con- 
versation. "  Remember  that  we  must  lay  hands  suddenly  on 
no  man ;  we  know  nothing  of  his  private  character  yet.  He 
may  prove  very  unlike  what  he  now  appears." 

"  Well !  "  responded  Father  Shaw,  "  I  don't  care  what  you 
think,  but  I  believe  its  plaguy  hard  to  counterfeit  such  good- 
ness as  this.  I  wish  to  the  Lord  we  had  more  on  't !  " 

Zephaniah  now  shook  his  head  and  looked  gravely  wise. 
This  young  man  belonged  to  that  peculiar  class  of  persons 
who  go  up  and  down  the  earth  as  though  they  possessed  a 
superior  gift  of  discovering  secret  sin,  as  did  the  Fakir  el 
Kebir  when  he  reported  that  he  caused  a  lamb  to  bleat  in 
the  stomach  of  the  thief  who  had  stolen  and  afterwards 
eaten  it. 

Edith  Hale  heard  this  sermon  also,  and,  as  she  listened,  she 
forgot  all  her  sorrows,  all  things  save  the  words  of  the 
speaker.  But  when  she  left  the  house  of  worship,  and  once 
more  found  herself  in  a  world  harsh,  and  chill,  and  gloomy  to 
her  young  heart,  she  thought,  — 

"  Alas !  I  now  feel  the  breadth  and  depth  of  my  afflictions 
in  their  bitterest  reality  !  My  dear  father  gone  forever,  my 
mother  and  myself  in  poverty,  and  to-morrow  I  must  go  to 
the  factory  to  labor  for  my  bread !  " 

But  when  her  mother  inquired  of  what  she  had  heard,  she 
replied,  in  a  cheerful  tone, 

"  One  new  idea,  out  of  many,  I  recall.  The  preacher 
2 


14  EDIT  II     HALE. 

said  that  on  the  mountain  of  Serendib,  in  Ceylon,  grows  a 
red  rose  about  the  size  of  the  palm  of  the  hand,  upon  tho 
leaves  of  which  the  Mahometans  imagine  they  can  read  the 
name  of  God  and  the  Prophet.  The  Christian,  he  said,  should 
read  the  name  of  God  upon  all  his  works  —  as  much  upon  the 
serpent  who  but  obeyed  the  impulses  of  instinct,  as  upon  the 
fragrant  and  beautiful  rose.  And  our  afflictions,  also,  should 
discover  this  blessed  name  to  us,  as  well  as  our  joys." 


CHAPTER    II. 

A   NEW   LIFE. 

WATEBBUBY  was  among  the  most  thriving  country  towns 
of  New  England.  Situated  at  a  convenient  distance  from 
the  metropolis,  and  possessing  many  natural  as  well  as  facti- 
tious resources  for  business,  in  a  steadily-increasing  growth 
of  years  it  had  come  to  hold  a  rank  in  the  community  not 
inferior  to  any  of  the  places  in  the  vicinity. 

Through  the  centre  of  the  village  flowed  a  stream  of  con- 
siderable width,  intersected  by  several  mill-dams,  over  which 
the  water  fell  like  a  sheet  of  silver,  broken  at  its  base  into  a 
million  globules  of  sheen.  In  the  sunlight  each  waterfall 
seemed  a  cascade  of  iridescent  stones.  The  central  street  of 
Waterbury  spanned  this  stream  by  a  bridge,  above  which 
was  one  of  the  waterfalls,  with  its  perpetual  volume  of  sound. 
Further  up  the  stream  were  little  islands,  studded  with  trees 
or  underbrush,  which,  in  the  warm  season,  were  very  attract- 
ive, and  suggestive  of  those  fabled  isles  that  are  clothed 
with  perennial  verdure  and  delight.  Upon  the  banks  stood 
ancient  oaks  and  elms,  often  entwined  by  stout  grape-vines, 
with  branches  pendent  over  the  water. 


EDITH     IIALE. 


On  the  lower  side  of  the  bridge,  at  some  distance,  a  still 
expanse  of  water  was  bounded  to  the  eye  by  a  factory  build- 
ing, which  resembled  a  huge  patch-work  of  stone.  In  the 
evening  this  water  was  so  radiant  with  the  reflections  of  bril- 
liant window-panes,  that  it  appeared  as  if  some  enchanter  had 
summoned  up  myriad  lights  from  the  halls  of  a  subterranean 
temple.  The  low  lands  below  the  mill,  irrigated  by  this 
stream,  were  very  luxuriant,  and  early  in  the  spring  presented 
a  beautiful  green  most  grateful  to  the  eye. 

This  valley  was  rich  in  wild-flowers,  which  seemed  to  those 
who  sought  for  them  more  lovely  and  mellow  in  tint  than  all 
others,  —  as  the  horses  of  Nysa,  that  fed  on  the  beautiful 
plains  of  Medea,  yielding  the  best  pasturage  in  the  world,  are 
reported  by  ancient  writers  to  have  become  cream-colored. 

Near  the  centre  of  the  village  stood  the  only  church  of  the 
place,  which  was  in  the  Gothic  style  of  architecture,  with  a 
clock  upon  the  base  of  the  steeple,  and  a  dove  holding  an 
olive-branch  for  the  weather-vane.  Surrounding  the  church 
was  an  extensive  and  beautiful  lawn,  skirted  with  ancient 
forest  and  evergreen  trees,  and  enclosed  with  an  iron  paling. 
At  some  distance  in  the  rear,  upon  a  low  hill  of  a  beautiful 
outline,  and  dotted  thickly  with  pines,  ever  aromatic  and 
melancholy  in  the  deep,  solemn  sighs  of  the  wind,  was  the 
place  of  burial  for  the  dead.  The  furthermost  base  of  this 
hill  was  skirted  by  a  stream,  from  which  the  place  derived  its 
name  of  Iliverbank  Cemetery.  Leading  from  the  village 
in  various  directions  were  the  streets,  on  which  were  situated, 
for  a  long  distance,  the  places  of  business  and  homes  of 


EDITH     HALE.  17 

the  inhabitants.  Some  of  these  were  very  tasteful,  —  a  few 
even  asserting  claim  to  elegance  and  rare  beauty. 

Very  early  in  the  morning,  before  the  darkness  had  fled, 
the  sharp-toned  bell  of  the  factory  rang. 

When  Edith  Hale  heard  this  bell  for  the  first  time  as  a 
reminder  of  her  own  duty,  she  rose  from  her  troubled  dreams, 
and,  with  trembling  fingers,  arrayed  herself  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible, then  fell  upon  her  knees  in  supplication  to  God  for 
patience  and  strength.  The  words  of  the  Psalmist  came  into 
her  thought :  "  In  the  day  of  my  trouble  I  will  call  upon  Thee, 
for  Thou  wilt  answer  me." 

"  Dear  Edith,  be  of  good  courage  !  "  said  her  mother,  fold- 
ing her  shawl  more  closely  about  her  before  she  went  out ; 
"  remember  the  promises  of  God  to  those  who  put  their  trust 
in  him."  But  the  mother's  tremulous  voice  betrayed  that  she 
had  no  less  need  of  consolation  herself. 

Edith  was  too  troubled  for  words;  she  threw  her  arms 
about  her  mother's  neck,  and  kissed  her  with  unwonted  fervor. 
A  moment  she  lingered,  as  if  her  mother  could  shield  her  on 
her  bosom  from  harsh  contact  with  the  world  evermore,  as 
she  had  dreamed  in  the  hours  of  her  childhood,  and  the 
answering  heart  throbbed  with  a  pain  more  acute  than  it  had 
ever  known  before.  The  most  affectionate  mother,  who  parts 
with  her  daughter  leaving  for  the  distant  school,  or  the  tour 
of  travel,  or  even  for  that  last  journey  through  the  dark  val- 
ley of  the  shadow  of  death,  knows  not  such  sorrow  as  the 
mother  of  Edith  then  knew.  She  had  once  been  a  proud 
woman,  born  and  bred  in  scenes  of  affluence  and  luxury ;  and 
2* 


18  EDITH     HALE. 

they  who  have  known  this  pride  of  life  can  never  wholly  for- 
get it,  although  it  may  be  subdued  by  the  severest  ill-fortune, 
and,  more  than  all,  by  the  spirit  of  Him  who  said,  "  Blessed 
are  the  meek."  Such  souls  are  like  the  Phlegraen  fields,  that 
appear  but  a  thin  crust  of  earth  covering  an  internal  gulf  of 
liquid  fire,  from  which  occasionally  the  flame  bursts  forth  and 
asserts  its  power  in  fearful  magnitude  and  strength.  But  all 
the  yearnings  of  the  mother's  heart  availed  not ;  for  she  was 
poor,  hopelessly  poor,  and  no  human  arm  of  support  appeared 
for  her  high-souled,  beautiful  child. 

Arriving  at  the  factory,  whose  scenes  were  unfamiliar,  Edith 
having  never  been  within  its  walls  but  once  or  twice  on  visits 
of  curiosity,  she  was  stunned  by  the  din  so  foreign  to  her 
sensitive  nature.  The  hundreds  of  wheels  in  motion,  the 
complexity  of  cords,  the  moving  of  the  wires  and  great  belts, 
seemed  to  fascinate  the  nerves,  chords,  and  sinews,  of  her  own 
system,  and  draw  them  into  correspondence  of  motion. 

"  I  cannot  remain  here  !  "  she  said  to  herself,  looking  about 
her  fearfully,  and  shrinking  on  to  a  bench  in  a  dark  corner. 
But  the  memory  of  her  poverty  came  to  her,  and  of  the  high 
wages  offered  her  by  her  employer,  who,  out  of  friendship, 
had  agreed  to  give  her  as  much  as  operatives  of  a  long  expe- 
rience receive ;  and,  by  a  strong  resolution,  she  drew  herself 
up,  and  summoned  strength  to  walk  forward  and  ask  the 
overseer  to  assign  her  place. 

It  happened  that  this  man  was  a  coarse,  conceited  person, 
who  held  himself  in  higher  regard  than  any  other,  and  who 
was  one  of  that  somewhat  numerous  class  that  rejoice  at 


EDITH     HALE.  19 

nothing  so  much  as  in  seeing  others  "brought  down,"  and 
heartily  engage  in  assisting  at  this  levelling  process.  He  had 
often  seen  Edith,  and,  since  the  change  in  her  circumstances, 
had  striven  to  make  her  acquaintance ;  but,  perceiving  that 
his  society  was  unpleasant  to  her,  had  withdrawn  himself 
from  her  presence  in  high  sense  of  offended  dignity. 

"  Want  your  place,  do  you,  miss  ?  "  he  repeated,  eying  her 
with  an  air  of  triumph.  "  I  thought  your  place  was,  like 
shining  brass  dogs,  before  the  parlor  fire !  Well,  come  on, 
and  I  '11  give  you  a  place  where  I  can  keep  my  eye  on  ye. 
We  shall  be  the  best  of  friends  bimeby,  shan't  we  ?  " —  and  he 
tapped  her  familiarly  under  the  chin. 

At  this  rudeness  Edith  drew  back  with  the  air  of  an  out- 
raged queen,  while  the  tears  quickly  rushed  into  her  flashing 
eyes.  But,  commanding  her  voice,  she  said,  with  a  tone  of 
authority  not  to  be  mistaken,  "  Sir,  never  offer  such-  famil- 
iarities to  me  again !  If  you  do,  't  will  be  at  your  peril !  " 

"  Hoity  toity !  Does  the  girl  know  who  I  am  ?  I  'm  your 
overseer,  miss ;  and  't  won't  do  to  have  over  any  of  yer  high 
stuff  here !  You  've  got  to  do  jest  as  I  say,  or  lose  yer  placo, 
—  that 's  all !  " 

"  Has  it  come  to  this  ?  "  thought  Edith.  "  0,  my  God  !  better 
had  it  been  for  me  if  I  had  never  been  born  !  "  But  a  remem- 
brance of  the  great  Master  came  over  her  heart  like  a  breath 
of  cool  wind  over  a  parched,  blistering,  burning  desert ;  of  Him 
whose  name  is  "  The  Mighty  God,"  "  The  Everlasting  Father," 
"  Prince  of  Peace ; "  but  who  submitted  to  be  buffeted  and 
crowned  with  thorns,  —  and  she  felt  contrition  for  her  rebellion 


20  EDITH     HALE. 

In  the  full  light  of  morning  she  perceived  a  small  earthen 
vase  on  one  of  the  window-seats,  in  which  was  growing  a 
fragrant-leaved  plant,  tipped  here  and  there  with  the  most 
perfect  and  delicate  white  blossoms.  It  was  the  care  of 
Borne  loving  heart,  who  strove,  even  within  that  noisome, 
uncongenial  sphere,  to  preserve  a  resemblance  of  loveliness 
and  Heaven.  Edith  gazed  upon  it  as  one  in  a  dream. 
Visions  of  the  past  were  awakened  with  the  sight  of  those 
flowers,  till  she  wept. 

"  Alas  !  "  she  sighed,  "  how  freely  did  I  once  enjoy  all  the 
blessings  which  now  I  so  crave  !  But  God  has  forgotten  me ; 
he  has  left  dear  mother  and  myself  to  struggle  with  our  heavy 
crosses  alone ! " 

She  was  aroused  by  the  words  of  a  pleasant  voice  beside 
her.  "  These  little  flowers  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin ;  yet 
Solomon,  in  all  his  glory,  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these." 

Edith  turned  quickly,  and  saw  the  good-natured  face  of  the 
girl  who  worked  beside  her. 

"  You  seem  rather  down-hearted,"  she  continued.  "  I  don't 
know  much  how  to  comfort  anybody  like  you,  for  I  know  little 
enough  for  myself;  but,  if  there 's  anything  I  can  do  to  help 
you  along  here,  I  '11  be  merry  as  a  top  in  doing  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Edith,  turning  to  her  work  a  little 
more  cheerfully ;  "  you  have  helped  me  already,  by  reminding 
me  of  that  passage  which  speaks  about  God  clothing  the  grass 
of  the  field,  and  asks,  '  Shall  he  not  much  more  clothe  you,  0 
ye  of  little  faith  ? ' " 

"  'Twill  seem  easier  in  a  little  while.     'Twas  very  hard  to 


EDITH     HALE.  21 

me,  at  first ;  but  now  I  mind  nothing  about  it,  unless  I  want 
to  go  somewhere." 

"  You  are  very  kind ;  for  I  am  sure  I  hinder  you  very 
much,"  said  Edith,  after  receiving  considerable  assistance  from 
the  girl. 

"  0,  never  mind ;  and,  then,  I  am  glad  to  help  one  who  has 
helped  me,"  was  the  reply. 

"  How  is  that  ?  "  said  Edith.     "  I  don't  understand." 

"  Don't  you  remember  Maria  Weston,  who  used  to  sit  in 
the  seat  below  you  at  school  ?  That  was  me.  You  showed 
me  a  great  many  times  about  my  lessons ;  and  once,  when  the 
teacher,  Mr.  Gascoe,  was  about  to  punish  me,  and  I  was  half 
scared  to  death,  you  stood  right  up  before  the  whole  school, 
and,  after  you  had  asked  leave,  you  told  just  how  't  was ;  and 
it  appeared  so  different,  he  let  me  off  with  only  a  talking." 

"  I  do  remember  now,"  Edith  replied,  considerably  bright- 
ened ;  for  nothing  is  so  invigorating  as  the  remembrance  of  a 
good  deed.  "  And  you  are  that  same  girl,  then  !  I  thought 
your  countenance  was  familiar.  I  think,  too,  I  have  seen  you 
in  the  meetings  of  our  church." 

"  Yes,"  said  Maria,  in  a  lower  tone,  apparently  disconcerted 
at  this  allusion.  "  I  think,  sometimes,  I  ought  never  to  have 
joined  the  church,"  she  added,  after  a  pause. 

Edith  was  about  to  interrogate  her  respecting  this  singular 
confession,  when  the  appearance  of  the  overseer  precluded 
further  conversation  at  that  time.  He  stood  at  a  convenient 
distance,  scrutinizing  the  face  of  Edith  with  great  freedom. 
Presently  his  attention  was  transferred  to  Maria ;  and,  catch- 


22  EDITH     HALE. 

ing  her  eye,  he  winked,  drew  down  his  lips  with  ugly  contor- 
tions to  their  furthest  limit,  then  laughed,  bending  low  with 
the  gust  of  his  merriment,  and,  turning  suddenly  upon  his 
heel,  walked  away. 

"  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Maria,  drawing  nearer  to  Edith, 
"you  must  look  out  for  Mr.  Shattuck,  the  overseer;  he's  a 
queer  man,  and  does  some  strange  things,  sometimes." 

"  I  shall  never  speak  to  him !  "  said  Edith,  curling  her  lip 
haughtily. 

"  That  won't  do  here,"  said  Maria.  "  You  may  do  such 
things  where  you  have  been,  but  'twill  go  hard  to  get  the 
overseer  out  with  you  in  this  place.  He  '11  set  a  great  many 
more  against  you,  and  you  '11  get  into  all  sorts  of  trouble. 
You  know  't  is  the  best  way  to  keep  in  with  folks  that  have 
power  over  you,  even  if  't  is  a  kind  of  power  you  despise." 

But  it  required  great  self-conflict  before  Edith  could  school 
herself  to  regard  a  man  like  her  overseer  without  utter  dis- 
gust. As  the  home  of  Edith  was  some  distance  from  the 
factory,  she  did  not  return  to  breakfast ;  in  the  interval  of 
labor,  she  ate  a  slice  of  cold  bread  and  meat  which  she  had 
brought  with  her.  But  the  hours  of  the  long  forenoon  lagged 
wearily.  Her  heart  ached  in  the  great  change  to  which  she 
was  subjected.  Weary  to  faintness,  and  dizzy  with  the 
incessant  noise  of  the  machinery,  she  felt  at  times  ready  to 
sink  down,  and  resign  herself  hopelessly  to  her  untoward  fate. 

Often  her  thoughts  wandered  far  away  from  her  task.  A 
glimpse  of  the  trees  down  in  the  meadow,  as  she  passed  a 
window,  recalled  how  pleasantly  a  similar  spring  day  had  been 


EDITH     HALE.  23 

spent  but  one  year  ago.  Her  parents  rode  with  herself  out 
to  a  farm  where  some  friends  lived,  two  or  three  miles 
distant;  and  she  was  as  happy  as  her  heart  could  be  in 
rambling  over  the  hills,  gathering  wild-flowers,  and  then  sit- 
ting down  to  the  dinner,  —  the  delicious  dinner  of  early 
cowslips,  meats,  bird's-nest  pudding, — and  the  fragrant  coffee 
afterward.  And  her  plays  with  the  merry  children  up  in  the 
large,  unfinished  attic,  her  hidings  among  the  barrels  of  beans 
and  peas,  and  the  grand  high  swing  in  the  barn  ;  the  search 
for  the  hens'  nests,  and  the  examination  of  the  first  brood  of 
chickens ;  and  the  visit  to  the  old  curbless  well,  where  all 
were  first  scared  and  afterwards  made  merry  by  the  harmless 
slip  of  one  of  the  number  into  the  loose  soil  at  the  very  brink. 
And  then  the  good,  long  talk  on  the  way  homewards  with  her 
father — the  father  who  never  was  to  her  aught  but  affection! 

Now,  her  only  prospect  was  this  work  in  the  factory ;  to 
go  home  and  find  her  mother  desolate,  her  father  gone  for- 
ever !  To  sit  down  to  the  scanty  meal,  every  mouthful  of 
which  she  should  grudge  herself  as  so  much  deducted  from 
what  they  were  trying  to  save ;  and  then  to  hasten  back  again 
and  repeat,  day  after  day,  this  same  heart-sickening  labor, 
which  tugged  at  her  heart-strings  ! 

At  this  crisis  of  her  reflections,  her  attention  was  attracted 
to  some  visitors  who  now  entered  the  room,  a  gentleman 
and  two  ladies,  dressed  very  showily.  They  were  conversing 
together  gayly ;  and,  as  they  walked  toward  where  Edith 
stood,  she  heard  one  of  the  ladies  exclaim,  in  a  loud  voice,  to 
the  gentleman, 


24  EDITH     HALE. 

"  0,  what  a  nice  place  to  get  used  to  noise  !  But  here  are 
some  pretty  girls  —  pretty  for  low  people,  you  know." 

"  Very  passable,"  replied  the  gentleman,  glancing  search- 
ingly  about  him.  "  But  let  us  speak  lower ;  they  may  hear 
us,  and  'twill  do  them  no  good." 

"  Get  above  themselves,"  said  the  lady,  laughing  aloud. 

"  Which  would  be  a  great  pity,"  continued  the  gentleman ; 
"  for  some  are  born  to  work,  you  know.  We  are  made  to 
differ." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  one  of  the  ladies,  now  looking 
thoroughly  contemptuous  at  the  plain  dresses  of  the  opera- 
tives, and  gathering  the  folds  of  her  heavy  Cashmere  shawl 
more  closely  about  her.  This  last  speaker  was  the  wife  of 
the  gentleman ;  the  other  lady  a  visitor  from  the  city,  who 
had  a  curiosity  to  see  the  inside  of  a  factory-building.  As 
they  came  up  before  Edith,  she  recognized  the  man  in  an 
instant  of  sharp,  bitter  pain.  It  was  Mr.  Tyng,  for  whom 
her  late  father  had  lost  all  his  estate,  and  finally  died  of 
grief  at  the  sudden  weight  of  misfortune.  Edith  saw  that  he 
was  clad  in  the  finest  broadcloth,  and  wore  a  heavy  gold 
chain,  from  which  were  suspended  several  charms  of  value. 

"  We  must  hurry  a  little,"  said  he,  looking  at  his  large 
gold  watch ;  "it  is  now  eleven,  and  the  horses  are  engaged  at 
half-past.  But  who  is  this  ?  I  think  I  have  seen  her  some- 
where," he  now  suddenly  observed  to  the  overseer. 

"  That  is  Edith  Hale,  the  daughter  of  Blanchard  Hale,  who 
died  some  months  ago." 

"  Possible  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  his  lips  whitening.    As  he  ven- 


EDITH     HALE.  25 

tared  one  more  look,  their  eyes  met.  That  glance  !  On  the 
one  side  it  was  the  keenest  reproach  ;  on  the  other,  a  cower- 
ing shame,  which  was  quickly  succeeded  by  an  accustomed 
assurance. 

It  was  recalled  years  afterward,  when  next  they  met,  in 
another  place  ! 

"Did n't  you  know  that  man?"  inquired  Maria,  as  soon 
as  the  visitors  had  passed  on. 

"  I  did  but  too  well,"  replied  Edith,  her  whole  frame 
trembling  with  emotion. 

"  I  worked  in  his  family  once  when  his  wife  was  sick,"  said 
Maria ;  "  he  talked  all  sorts  of  stuff  to  me,  and  said  I  was 
the  handsomest  girl  he  ever  saw." 

Edith  now  looked  at  Maria  with  astonishment.  But  Maria 
laughed  lightly,  saying, 

"  You  need  n't  look  so  awfully  severe  ;  more  than  one  man 
has  said  that  to  me,  and  it  did  n't  harm  me,  either." 

"  Maria,"  said  Edith,  very  seriously,  "you  know  not  what 
you  mean  when  you  say  such  words  as  those  from  a  gentle- 
man do  you  no  harm.  They  are  the  words  of  the  tempter, 
and  I  warn  you  away  from  that  horrible  gulf  into  which  they 
lead." 

"  He  did  n't  speak  to  me  to-day,"  said  Maria,  a  little 
sobered  ;  "  but  he  would  if  his  wife  had  n't  been  with  him. 
He  used  to  make  a  great  deal  of  me,  and  has  carried  me  to 
ride  several  times,  when  Mrs.  Tyng  was  away  on  a  visit  to 
her  father's.  But  I  don't  think  I  shall  ride  with  him  again, 
if  he  asks  me." 

3 


26  E  D  I  T  II     II  A  L  i: . 

"0,  no,  dear  Maria!"  said  Edith,  with  unusual  fervor; 
"  don't  do  anything  that  has  even  the  appearance  of  evil. 
Those  who  are  poor  have  nothing  but  their  good  name ;  and  a 
good  name  is  rather  to  be  chosen  than  great  riches." 

"  '  Dear  Maria  ! '  that  sounds  odd  from  one  like  you,  Mks 
Edith  ;  but  I  suppose,  after  all,  you  did  n't  mean  anything  by 
it,"  said  Maria. 

"  Indeed  I  did,"  replied  Edith.  "  You  have  been  kind  to 
me,  to-day,"  and  her  voice  faltered  ;  "  and,  if  you  had  not,  I 
should  wish  to  befriend  you  in  such  a  matter  as  this." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  sudden  weight  of  a  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  each.  Both  looked  around  simulta- 
neously, and  saw  the  broad,  dark  face  of  the  overseer  between 
them,  grinning  and  ogling,  as  if  writhing  with  internal  ser- 
pents. Edith  moved  aside  in  an  instant ;  but  Maria  stood 
still  and  laughed  heartily. 

"  That  lady  has  n't  learnt  to  take  a  joke,"  he  said  to  Maria, 
at  the  same  time  passing  his  arm  around  her  neck.  Maria 
looked  toward  Edith,  not  because  she  wished  to,  but  she  was 
drawn  toward  her  by  an  impulse  irresistible  and  new.  She 
saw  Edith's  eye  was  filled  with  sorrow  and  kindly  reproof, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  withstand  that  look.  She  moved 
away  from  the  man,  pretending  something  about  her  work 
was  going  wrong. 

"  You  seem  dreadfully  squeamish  about  trifles,"  remarked 
Maria  to  Edith,  when  they  were  again  left  by  themselves. 

"  Such  things  are  not  trifles  to  me,"  answered  Edith. 

"  Well,  there  are  plenty  of  folks  that  do  hold  them  so," 


EDITH     HALE.  27 

persisted  Maria,  with  spirit ;  "  and  good  folks,  too.  I  've 
seen  church-members  tucking  round  other  women  than  their 
wives,  out  in  public ;  and  I  Ve  seen  'em  kissing,  as  though 
there  warn't  no  more  in  it  than  talking.  And,  if  such  people 
do  such  things  and  go  scot  free,  I  should  like  to  know  why  I 
can't  ?  Is  it  because  I  'm  a  poor  factory-girl  ?  " 

"  "  Shall  we  sin  because  we  think  others  do  ?"  asked  Edith, 
much  troubled  for  an  answer ;  for  she  knew  the  allegations  of 
the  girl  were  not  far  from  the  truth.  "  The  Master  whom  we 
profess  to  follow  has  said,  '  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart, 
for  they  shall  see  God ; '  and  his  example  and  words  only 
should  we  receive  for  imitation  and  obedience." 

"  I  never  thought  much  about  all  this  before,"  said  Maria  ; 
"  and  I  am  sure  I  thought  I  could  do  what  others  do,  who 
are  called  such  good  people." 

"  But  did  your  mother  never  teach  you  about  these 
things  ?  "  inquired  Edith. 

"  My  mother's  dead,"  said  Maria,  in  a  subdued  voice. 
"  She  died  when  I  was  a  mere  child,  and  I  can't  hardly  re- 
member her ;  though  I  just  recollect  that  I  was  lifted  up  over 
the  coffin,  and  how  I  cried  because  she  would  n't  speak  to  me." 

"  Have  you  no  sisters  ?  "  pursued  Edith. 

"  None  older  than  I.  My  father  has  got  a  second  wife, 
and  I  have  got  two  half-sisters.  Father  is  a  still  man,  and 
never  says  anything  only  the  least  that  can  be  said  :  and  my 
mother-in-law  seems  just  like  a  stranger.  She  's  very  nice 
and  particular  about  all  our  work,  though ;  and,  if  we  don't 
do  everything  to  suit  her  the  first  time,  we  have  to  do  it  all 


28  EDITHHALE. 

over  till  we  can  suit  her,  and  we  don't  get  any  praise,  then. 
But  she  never  tells  me  anything  how  to  behave  with  people." 
"  Poor  girl !  "  thought  Edith.  "  How  much  poorer  is  she 
than  myself,  with  the  blessing  of  my  dear,  excellent  mother  ! 
And  I  have  been  repining,  while  she  is  happy !  Heaven 
forgive  my  ingratitude  !  " 


CHAPTER    III. 

EXPLORING   EXPEDITION. 

AMONG  Mr.  Wellmont's  earliest  secular  appointments  was 
that  of  visiting  some  of  the  families  in  the  parish,  that  he 
might  be  able  to  judge  more  definitely  of  the  people,  and  the 
people  of  him,  than  in  the  restraints  of  public  exercises. 

As  he  was  a  stranger  to  almost  every  family,  Mr.  Solomon 
Acre,  a  young  man  who  abounded  in  leisure,  respectability, 
and  gossip,  volunteered  his  services  in  accompanying  Mr. 
Wellmont,  and  making  his  way  easier  by  introductions,  expla- 
nations, and  illuminations.  Mr.  Solomon  was  a  nephew  of 
the  gentleman  with  whose  family  Mr.  Wellmont  was  stopping 
indefinitely,  till  a  boarding-place  could  be  procured.  A  slight 
acquaintance  had,  therefore,  been  formed  between  them,  which 
made  this  arrangement  mutually  pleasant  and  beneficial. 

"  As  we  are  near  one  of  the  principal  parishioners,"  sug- 
gested Mr.  Solomon,  in  the  outset,  "  we  may  perhaps  as  well 
call  first  as  last,  though  it  may  not  prove  a  very  pleasant 
business." 

"  How  so  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Wellmont,  suddenly  interested. 

"  The  man  is  Father  Shaw,  an  odd  sort  of  person ;  and, 
ten  chances  to  one,  he  .may  put  you  some  questions  which 
3* 


30  EDITH     HALE. 

may  prove  offensive.  But  I  suppose  you  are  one  of  those," 
paid  Mr.  Solomon,  reverently,  "  to  whom  the  Psalmist  refers, 
when  he  says,  '  Great  peace  have  they  that  love  thy  law,  and 
nothing  shall  offend  them.'  We  all  think  a  good  deal  of  the 
old  man,  though,"  he  continued,  "  because  —  I  can't  exactly 
tell  why  —  only  he  is  rich  and  honest,  and  tremendously  plain- 
spoken." 

Mr.  Wellrnont  smiled  a  little  peculiarly,  but  made  no 
observation.  They  entered  the  yard,  which  was  enclosed  by 
a  hedge  of  thorn-bush,  with  tall  shrubs  inserted  at  equal 
distances  in  imitation  of  posts,  and  came  in  full  view  of  a 
staid-looking  house,  without  the  slightest  pretensions  to  decora- 
tion, but  simply  substantial  and  regular.  In  each  corner  of 
the  yard  was  a  tall,  scragged  elm,  under  one  of  which  stood 
a  row  of  bee-hives,  partly  shaded  also  by  a  scrubby  apple-tree. 
Everything  was  prim  to  a  pain,  and  there  was  no  trace  about 
the  homestead  of  its  ever  being  garnished  with  flowers,  vines, 
or  pretty  shrubs.  The  path  to  the  door  was  laid  with  broken 
stones,  and  the  sharp,  grinding  sound  of  their  contact  with 
the  tread  seemed  the  key-note  to  the  whole  life-chords  of  the 
spot.  Saving  this,  there  was  no  sound  of  life  about  the 
premises ;  it  seemed  like  a  deserted  hcme  on  Sunday. 

This  homestead,  standing  amid  the  stylish  modern  resi- 
dences of  the  village,  Mr.  Wellmont  likened  in  his  mind  to  an 
oM  book,  ponderous  and  discolored  by  long  use,  within  a 
row  of  new  volumes,  elegantly  bound  in  morocco  and  russia, 
muslin  and  gilt,  late  from  the  press  of  the  "  enterprising 
publisher." 


31 


Mr.  Solomon  having  tapped  delicately  with  his  slender 
cane  twice  and  thrice,  gaining  strength  with  each  repeated 
effort,  the  door  was  at  last  opened  by  Miss  Leah,  Mhose  tall. 
august  figure,  sharp  features,  and  keen,  searching  eye,  struck 
Mr.  "Wellniont  as  the  impersonation  of  vigor.  "  People  may 
hate  me,  if  they  only  fear  me,"  said  a  Roman  tyrant  ;  and 
the  expression  of  Miss  Leah  seemed  not  greatly  remote  from 
this. 

Mr.  Solomon  was  evidently  afraid  of  her,  and  ventured  to 
look  up  and  within,  like  a  cat  through  a  door  ajar,  into  which 
a  passport  is  no  every-day  matter  ;  but  he  smiled  and  tried 
hard  to  feel  at  home  and  on  the  best  terms  with  the  lady,  to 
whom,  stepping  one  side  and  waving  his  hand  spasmodically, 
he  presented  the  candidate  for  Waterbury  pulpit. 

Miss  Leah  returned  the  salutation  of  Mr.  Solomon  with  an 
air  of  condescension,  looked  steadily  at  Mr.  Wellmont  for  a 
minute,  then  offered  her  .hand  with  great  cordiality  ;  for  min- 
isters were  a  class  to  which  she  confessed  inferiority  —  and 
ministers  alone.  They  were  conducted  within  the  parlor  with 
alacrity,  for  3I'tss  Leah  was  a  little  excited.  She  drew  up 
the  largest  arm-chair  for  Mr.  Wellmont,  directed  Solomon  to 
a  common  chair  with  her  forefinger,  then  excused  herself  to 
speak  to  her  father. 

"  A  little  odd  is  Miss  Leah,  you  see,"  observed  Mr.  Sol- 
omon, in  a  confidential  tone  ;  "  but  she  's  a  remarkable  woman 
for  management,  indeed,  —  quite  equal  to  half  a  dozen  ordinary 
women,  or  men,  for  that  matter.  The  young  folks  fear  her 
more  than  her  father.  As  the  poet  says, 


32  EDIT  II     HALE. 

•  Peculiar,  therefore,  is  her  way  ; 

Whether  by  nature  taught 
I  shall  not  undertake  to  say, 
Or  by  experience  bought.'  " 

Mr.  Solomon  was  very  fond  of  introducing  what  "  the  poet 
says,"  as  people  with  a  romantic  temperament,  spiced  with  a 
little  oddity,  usually  are. 

Mr.  Wellmont  glanced  about  him,  and  saw  that  the  room 
wore  the  same  aspect  as  did  Miss  Leah.  The  furniture  was 
large,  odd,  and  old-fashioned.  The  chairs  were  straight,  high- 
backed,  and  trimmed  with  brass  nails,  reminding  one  of  those 
seats  in  the  days  of  chivalry,  on  which  duennas  were  obliged 
to  sit  erect  all  night,  that  they  might  be  kept  awake  to  watch 
their  youthful  mistresses.  The  carpet  was  of  a  pattern  like 
a  draught-board,  in  black  and  brown ;  and  the  light  was 
but  partially  admitted  between  green  and  white  curtains,  so 
that  everything  wore  a  sickly  and  gloomy  aspect.  A  single 
picture  hung  upon  the  sombre-papered  wall ;  it  was  the 
"  Destruction  of  Sodom,"  in  which  the  mass  of  falling  flame 
was  the  most  prominent  feature.  Several  figures  of  a  revolt- 
ing aspect  were  ranged  along  the  chimney-piece,  on  nearing 
which,  Mr.  Wellmont  discovered,  by  means  of  marked  slips 
of  pasteboard  pinned  to  their  pedestals,  they  were  intended 
to  represent  the  Persian  divinities,  Ormuzd  and  Ahriman,  the 
Egyptian  Eikton  and  a  Hindoo  Vishnu.  Upon  the  table  were 
several  numbers  of  the  Missionary  Magazine,  a  memoir  of  a. 
celebrated  divine,  and  a  kind  of  fancy  article,  which  Mr. 
Solomon  observed,  but  could  not  make  out. 


E  D  I  T  II     II  A  L  E  .  33 

Presently  Miss  Leah  reappeared,  followed  by  her  father, 
whom  she  presented  with  the  air  of  a  Persian  satrap  giving 
orders  to  his  troop.  Mr.  Wellmont's  wandering  thoughts 
were  instantly  recalled  by  the  words,  "  Solomon  !  you  well  ?  " 

Solomon  having  replied  submissively,  the  old  man  turned 
to  Mr.  Wellmont,  and  said,  "  Do  you  wish  to  be  called  Rev- 
erend ?  " 

"  I  am  not  yet  entitled  to  that  appellation ;  and,  if  I  were, 
I  am  not  ambitious  for  any  such  distinction,"  Mr.  Wellmont 
replied. 

"  I  wanted  to  know,"  said  Father  Shaw,  "  for  ministers 
are  amazin'  puffed  up  now-a-days ;  —  I  tell  'em  they  're 
like  young  wasps  —  the  largest  when  they  're  fust  hatched !  " 

"  Father  !  "  now  exclaimed  Miss  Leah,  looking  extremely 
serious. 

"  "What  say  ?  "  replied  the  old  man  bluntly,  and  apparently 
insensible  to  the  implied  reproof. 

"  The  apostle  says,  '  Render  therefore  to  all  their  dues : 
tribute  to  whom  tribute  is  due ;  custom  to  whom  custom ; 
fear  to  whom  fear ;  honor  to  whom  honor,'  "  remarked  Miss 
Leah. 

"  But  the  Bible  don't  say  anywhere  that  ministers  should 
be  called  Reverend,"  continued  Father  Shaw  ;  "  it 's  an  honor 
given  only  to  God  —  '  Holy  and  reverend  is  his  name.'  " 

"It  is  'a  title  given  to  ecclesiastics  by  long-established 
usage,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  who  felt  that  he  was 
expected  to  say  something. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  Father  Shaw,  "  and  it  comes  from 


34  EDITIIHALE. 

priestcraft.  It  comes  from  the  Catholics ;  they  call  their 
abbes,  and  priors,  and  what  not,  reverend  fathers  ;  and  their 
abbesses,  and  prioresses,  and  monkcsses,  reverend  mothers. 
It 's  a  shame  to  our  Christian  church  to  follow  after  such 
abominations  !  It 's  all  Babylon  !  I  s'pose  you  think  you  're 
divine,  too  !  " 

"  Why  do  you  make  that  inquiry  ?  "  said  the  minister- 
elect. 

".'Cause,  if  you  ministers  don't  think  you  are,  why  do  ye 
call  one  another  divines,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  That,  also,  is  a  custom  sanctioned  by  the  use  of  ages," 
replied  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  Well,  and  it  comes  from  witchcraft;  familiar  spirits  and 
wizards  that  peep  and  mutter,  which  books  call  divination. 
There  's  but  one  being  that 's  divine  —  Gcd  ;  but  there  are  a 
good  many  prophets  who  pretend  to  tell  the  future,  and  call 
themselves  divines.  People  make  a  great  fuss  about  the  Cath- 
olic mummery ;  but  we  had  better  look  to  home  afore  we  find 
fault  with  others." 

"  So  I  believe,  in  your  own  case,''  thought  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  Father  is  in  the  habit  of  saying  just  what  he  thinks," 
observed  Miss  Leah,  apologetically ;  "  but  those  who  know 
him  never  take  it  ill  of  him." 

"  It 's  no  use,"  said  Mr.  Solomon,  carefully. 

"  I  don't  care  whether  folks  git  mad  or  not,  if  I  only  tell 
the  truth,"  said  Father  Shaw. 

Miss  Leah  now  introduced  a  topic  of  conversation  which 
she  thought  would  be  more  agreeable  to  the  stranger's  feel- 


EDIT  II     HALE.  35 

ings.  But  Father  Shaw  soon  interrupted  them,  without  cir- 
cumlocution, by  inquiring  of  Mr.  Welluiont  how  long  he  had 
been  studying. 

"  During  the  usual  time  prescribed  for  a  student  of  theol- 
ogy," replied  Mr.  Wellmont,  striving  to  conceal  his  impatience 
while  going  through  this  introductory  course  of  inquisition. 

"  Do  you  think  it 's  all  done  you  any  good  ?  "  continued  the 
old  man. 

"  That  has  been  my  object,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont;  "  but  I 
do  not  wish  to  constitute  myself  a  judge  of  my  success." 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  it  has.  The  apostles  were  most  all 
fishermen ;  and  do  you  think,  with  all  your  fine  laming,  you 
can  preach  as  well  as  they  did  ?  The  best  preachin'  comes 
when  it 's  moved  by  the  Spirit,  and  by  a  fiery  zeal  for  the  sal- 
vation of  men ;  when  it  can't  be  kept  back,  more  than  the 
powder  down  in  a  hole  in  a  rock  can  be  kept  from  going  off, 
after  a  coal  of  fire  is  dropped  on't.  Such  preachers  tell  of  a 
salvation  without  money  and  without  price ;  they  don't  sell  it 
for  a  pew-tax  a  year.  This  ere  larnt  preachin'  is  no  more 
like  the  real  Gospel  preachin'  than  anything  else  gut  up  is 
like  the  nat'ral.  You  see,  the  last  time  I  went  to  Boston, 

where  my  son  lives,  he  got  me  to  go  and  see  a what  is 

that  are  show  called,  Leah  ?" 

"  Panorama,  father  ;  you  know  I  told  you  how  to  remem- 
ber, by  ths  association  of  a  m\\k-pan  and  '  in  Rama  was 
there  a  voice  heard,  lamentation  and  weeping.'  " 

"  There  was  a  Panorama  of  the  Creation,"  continued  the 
old  man,  "  where  they  had  Adam  and  Eve,  Noah  and  the 


36  EDITH     HALE. 

ark,  and  all  that,  pictured  out  as  big  as  life  a'most ;  I  dare 
say  you've  seen  'em.  Well,  they  made  thunder  there  and 
rain  that  sounded  like  rollin'  grind-stones,  and  throwin' 
down  bushels  of  beans  on  sheet-iron,  and  it  warn't  no  more 
like  real  thunder  and  rain  than  this  new-faiigled  preachin'  is 
alongside  the  apostles'  preaching." 

"  But,  Father  Shaw,  I  heard  you  say,  last  Sabbath,  you 
liked  the  sermons  of  our  new  minister  'amazin'  well,'"  now 
interposed  Mr.  Solomon. 

"  Well,  so  I  did ;  and  I  han't  said  anything  to  the  con- 
trary to-day,  have  I  ?  " 

"  You  have  come  pretty  near  it,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Mr. 
Solomon. 

"  I  did  n't  say  this  ere  young  man's  preachin'  is  such  trash 
that 's  like  a  soundin'  brass  and  tinklin'  cymbal  we  hear  so 
much  on  these  days.  I  said  I  did  n't  think  his  laming  done 
him  any  good,  and  I  stick  to  't,"  said  Father  Shaw. 

This  way  of  beginning  acquaintance,  by  showing  the  hard 
side  uppermost,  was  characteristic  of  the  old  man.  His 
friendship  was  like  wine,  acrid  and  unpalatable  at  first,  but 
improving  and  mellowing  by  age. 

"  A  pity  you  had  n't  tried  and  kept  old  Mr.  Walsh  here  ; 
he  had  n't  learning  enough  to  hurt  him,"  observed  Mr.  Solo- 
mon, facetiously. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is  a  pity,"  said  Miss  Leah  ;  "  he  was  too 
headstrong  for  me.  When  I  asked  him  to  preach  on  some 
subjects  which  burdened  my  mind,  he  laughed  in  my  face,  and 
said  what  was  quite  unbecoming  a  minister  of  the  Gospel." 


EDIT  II     HALE.  37 

"  He  said  women  should  n't  meddle  with  what  did  n't 
belong  to  'em ;  but  they  should  larn  of  their  husbands  at 
home,"  concluded  her  father,  unmercifully. 

Mr.  Wellmont  now  looked  at  his  watch,  and  observed  to 
Mr.  Solomon  that,  as  they  had  many  more  calls  to  make  that 
day,  he  thought  they  would  leave. 

"  Not  yet,"  spoke  Father  Shaw,  in  a  tone  of  command ; 
"  I  've  somethin'  more  to  say.  Young  man,  if  you  think  of 
settlin'  here,  you'll  find  me  one  of  your  best  friends,  provided 
you  do  about  right.  Now,  you  think,  no  doubt,  I  'm  very  un- 
comfortable, and  e'enamost  a  heathen  ;  but  I  Ve  gut  a  heart, 
nevertheless,  that 's  true  as  steel,  when  it  takes  a  notion.  I 
pity  you ;  I  pity  all  ministers  of  these  days ;  for  they  've  a 
dreadful  hard  time  on 't,  to  please  folks." 

"  Yes,  that  indeed,"  interrupted  Mr.  Solomon ;  "  modern 
ministers  can  say,  with  Pope  : 

'  What  would  vou  have  me  do 
When  out  of  twenty  I  can  please  not  two  ! 
One  likes  the  pheasant's  wing,  and  one  the  leg  — 
The  vulgar  boil,  the  learned  roast  an  egg.'  " 

"  Solomon,  stop  till  I  git  done,  then  you  may  say  over 
your  stuff  as  long  as  you  want  to.  I  say  ministers  have  a 
hard  time,  and  it 's  'cause  they  try  to  do  what  they  ought  to 
leave  undone,  and  they  leave  undone  what  they  ought  to  do. 
And  they  're  too  strung  up,  being  jealous  of  what  folks  think 
on  'em,  and  with  hatin'  more  'n  lovin'.  I  knew  a  minister 
once  who  seemed  to  set  by  no  varse  in  the  whole  Bible  so 
4 


38  EDITH     HALE. 

much  as  by  that  one  where  David  said,  '  I  hate  mine  enemies 
with  a  parfect  hatred.'  " 

"  I  knew  him,  too,"  said  Mr.  Solomon  ;  "  and  he  had  ene- 
mies enough  who  hated  him." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Solomon !  Now,  just  preach  Christ 
and  him  crucified,"  continued  Father  Shaw.  "  Visit  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless,  and  keep  yourself  unspotted  from 
the  world.  Then  don't  worry  about  anything  or  anybody ; 
but  love  everybody,  and  think  everybody  loves  you,  and 
'cordin'  to  your  faith  't  will  be  unto  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  the  minister-elect,  dryly ;  and  there 
was  an  expression  upon  his  face  which  was  not  wholly  peace. 

"  Well,"  concluded  the  old  man,  as  they  rose  to  leave.  "  if 
we  think  of  keeping  you  here,  and  you  get  into  trouble  in 
mind  or  money,  jest  you  come  to  me,  and  I  '11  help  you  out 
if  I  can." 

In  another  tone  did  Mr.  Wellmont  now  express  his  grat- 
itude ;  and  it  would  not  have  puzzled  a  child  to  have  seen 
that  he  heard  this  gladly. 

When  they  had  fairly  left  the  house,  and  gained  the  open 
air,  Mr.  Wellrnont  took  a  long  breath ;  and  the  charm 
with  which  the  ministry  had  always  been  invested  to  him 
seomed  now  changed  into  a  curse.  He  murmured  to  himself, 
"A  Fetish  priest,  who  bears  about  in  the  streets  cf  African 
towns  a  club  hung  with  strings  of  cowries,  broken  combs,  bits 
of  iron,  brass,  and  nut-shells,  is  more  to  be  envied  and 
admired  than  myself,  thus  going  from  house  to  house  in  a 
New  England  parish."  But,  as  he  thought  of  this  passage, 


EDITIIIIALE.  89 

"  Behold  I  send  you  forth  as  sheep  in  the  midst  of  wolves  : 
be  ye,  therefore,  wise  as  serpents,  and  harmless  as  doves,"  he 
smiled  involuntarily,  and,  in  a  cheerful  voice,  inquired  of  his 
companion  to  what  family  he  designed  next  to  introduce 
him. 

"  You  observe  this  fine  house  at  our  right,"  said  Mr.  Solo- 
mon. "It  is  the  residence  of  Mr.  Pickering  and  his  family, 
which  consists  of  a  wife  and  several  daughters.  They  are 
some  of  our  most  stylish  people,  and  are  as  different  from 
Mr.  Shaw  and  Miss  Leah  as  rainbows  are  unlike  blocks  of 
Quincy  granite.  We  will  call  here  next,  if  you  please." 

Within  this  house  they  were  admitted  by  a  smart,  flippant 
house-maid,  who  bowed  familiarly  to  3Ir.  Wellmont,  talked 
with  Mr.  Solomon  as  to  an  old  acquaintance,  and  excused 
herself  from  the  parlor  to  speak  to  "  Miss  Pickering  and  the 
girls."  After  considerable  delay  the  lady  of  the  house  ap- 
peared, dressed  in  an  extremely  youthful  mode,  although  the 
wrinkles  of  her  face  betokened  she  had  seen  at  least  fifty 
winters.  In  a  high  flow  of  spirits  she  greeted  Mr.  Well- 
mont, and  widened  the  folds  of  her  silk  dress,  as  she  seated 
herself  on  the  sofa  beside  him,  with  an  air  which  expressed, 
"  I  'm  tlie  happiest  creature  in  the  world  to  see  you."  To  all 
Mr.  Wellmont's  observations  she  smiled  graciously,  and  made 
a  great  many  little  rejoinders  expressive  of  her  thorough 
appreciation ;  and  often  she  seemed  to  anticipate  his  words, 
before  they  could  be  uttered,  with  exquisite  demonstrations 
of  pleasure.  Her  presence  had  suddenly  filled  the  room  with 
a  trifling,  buzzing  sound,  as  when  a  glittering,  fluttering  fly 


40  EDITH     HALE. 

comes  in  on  a  warm  summer  day.  Naturalists  tell  us  that  a 
fly  walks  with  equal  ease  upon  a  surface  rough  or  smooth, 
upon  the  ceiling  as  upon  the  floor,  on  account  of  a  vacuum 
produced  by  certain  organs  attached  to  the  foot ;  and,  on  a 
similar  principle,  substituting  the  word  head  for  foot,  it  might 
be  accounted  for,  that  whatever  topic  of  conversation,  whether 
deep  or  shallow,  lively  or  grave,  was  introduced  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Mrs.  Pickering,  she  always  skimmed  along  with  her 
usual  vivacity,  apparently  never  troubled  with  apprehensions 
of  her  incapacity,  as  one  of  sounder  intellect  and  more  weight 
of  character  might  have  been.  She  never,  indeed,  advanced 
ideas  requiring  the  least  depth  of  reflection ;  but,  by  a  variety 
of  gestures  and  rarefied  nothingnesses,  she  appeared  to  share 
largely  in  the  conversation. 

Presently  appeared  three  young  ladies,  in  the  most  attract 
ive  grouping  imaginable,  suggestive  of  the  three  Graces, 
or,  of  the  three  goddesses,  who  were  metamorphosed  into 
poplars. 

Celesta,  the  eldest,  was  presented  by  Mrs.  Pickering  as 
"our  book-worm."  The  second  daughter,  Claudine,  whose 
name  had  been  modernized  from  Lucinda,  was  designated  as 
"  the  artist."  And  the  third,  Julia,  as  "  the  musician." 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  soon  overwhelmed  with  conversation, 
by  "  the  book-worm,"  upon  the  latest  popular  novels ;  while 
Mr.  Solomon  was  engrossed  by  Claudine  in  the  inspection  of 
a  portrait  which  she  had  just  completed.  It  being  the  likeness 
of  a  rival  admirer  of  the  young  lady,  Mr.  Solomon  was 
unsparing  in  his  criticisms ;  and,  falling  into  a  lively  dispute, 


EPITHHALE.  41 

he  soon  proposed  to  Mr.  Wellmont  to  take  their  leave,  which 
that  gentleman  was  not  at  all  unwilling  to  do. 

Mrs.  Pickering  pressed  her  hospitalities  extremely,  and 
hoped  Mr.  Wellmont  would  quite  make  their  home  his  own. 
"  At  least,"  she  added,  "  if  you  remain  here,  which  I  do  not 
doubt,  as  we  are  all  in  love  with  you  already." 

When  out  of  the  presence  of  these  ladies,  Mr.  Solomon  fell 
into  a  fit  of  abstraction,  and  seemed  suddenly  to  have  lost  all 
his  communicativeness  ;  but,  arousing  himself  at  some  observa- 
tion of  his  companion,  he  said,  as  if  concluding  a  reflection, 
"  After  all,  she  is  just  as  different  from  the  rest  as  an  aurora 
borealis  is  from  the  light  of  a  common  lamp." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  A  thousand  pardons,  sir !  I  had  nearly  forgotten  in 
whose  presence  I  was,  while  I  fell  into  a  stream  of  reminis- 
cence which  was  '  moving  on  with  a  brown,  brown  current,'  as 
the  poet  says.  In  short,  I  was  in  a  brown  study,  and  speak- 
ing of  Lucinda,"  replied  Mr.  Solomon,  with  some  confusion. 

"  The  Miss  Pickering  presented  as  Claudine  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  her  original  name  was  Lucinda  ;  —  a  good, 
sensible  name  it  was,  and  one  which  I  liked  vastly,  because 
she  was  a  very  different  girl,  and  infinitely  more  charming, 
before  her  name  was  changed.  They  thought  Claudine 
sounded  more  romantic,  I  suppose.  But  I  lay  all  such  things 
to  the  mother,  and  the  lackadaisical  book-worm." 

"  I  infer,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  from  this  young  lady's 
being  styled  '  the  book-worm,'  that  she  is  a  remarkable 
reader." 

4* 


42  EDITIIHALE. 

"  Yes,  of  novels ;  but  I  perceive  no  indications  of  those 
'  looks,'  to  which,  the  poet  says, 

'  Is  sacrificed  the  dinner  for  the  books.'  " 

"  The  father  of  these  young  ladies,  —  I  think  you  men- 
tioned him  favorably  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  Yes ;  Mr.  Pickering  is  sound  every  way ;  but  he  makes* 
a  slave  of  himself  for  his  family.  He  began  life  poor  and 
friendless,  and  has  had  to  make  a  hard,  strong  effort  to  rise  in 
the  world.  But  he  has  risen,  so  that  men  who  have  three 
times  the  learning  and  '  unified  '  stuff  about  them  go  to  him  for 
his  judgment  in  business  matters,  and  think  highly  of  him, 
not  only  for  his  good  sense,  but  for  his  generosity ;  for  he  's 
got  a  heart  in  him  as  large  as  a  bushel-basket ;  and  he  makes 
no  more  of  doing  for  the  poor,  and  helping  on  public  improve- 
ments, than  some  of  as  make  of  doing  for  ourselves.  But  the 
way  his  wife  and  children  (at  least,  all  but  one  or  two)  do 
spend  his  money !  —  as  if  the  dollars  grew  like  huckleberries, 
and  had  n't  been  hammered  out  of  his  brain  and  bone  and 
sinew !  One  would  think  they  never  knew  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  work.  And  to  see  the  airs  they  put  on  over  people ! 
—  at  least,  all  but  Lucinda,  who  would  be  more  sensible  if 
she  could,  —  and  one  other,  a  mere  cipher  in  the  family." 

"  In  what  respect  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  0,  they  never  make  anything  of  her,  and  avoid  all  allu- 
sion to  her,  as  though  she  were  an  idiot,  or  some  poor  unfor- 
tunate who  was  a  disgrace  to  them,  because  she  is  so  plain  in 
her  looks,  and  won't  be  drilled  into  any  of  their  nonsense. 


EDITHHALE.  43 

They  keep  her  out  of  sight  as  much  as  they  can,  and  now  she 
is  scut  away  among  relations  at  a  distance.  When  she  is  at 
home  she  will  go  to  church ;  and,  foul  or  fair,  you  are  sure  to 
see  Mary  Pickering  in  her  place  beside  her  father.  He  seems 
to  think  more  of  her,  and  would  have  things  different  if  he 
could ;  but,  in  all  such  matters,  his  wife  and  Celesta  set  the 
copy,  and  the  rest  have  to  write  after.  After  all,  a  good 
many  in  the  village  like  Mary  the  best  of  the  whole ;  but  they 
are  of  the  second  set,  and  it  is  because  she  always  does  so 
much  for  them.  Lucinda  is  the  belle  among  our  upper 
ten." 

Mr.  Wellmont  now  directed  the  attention  of  his  companion, 
with  apparent  indifference,  to  the  cottage  in  which  he  was 
beginning  to  be  interested. 

"  That,"  said  Mr.  Solomon,  "  is  the  home  of  Mrs.  Hale, 
a  widow  lady,  and  her  only  daughter,  Edith.  The  death  of 
Mr.  Hale,  a  most  devoted  husband  and  father,  and  the  loss  of 
their  fortune  a  short  time  since,  has  left  them  in  deep  afflic- 
tion. Their  life  is  wholly  changed,  and  I  heard  that  Edith 
went  into  the  factory  this  week ;  but,  for  all  that,  she  is  as 
pretty  a  g'ui  as  there  is  here  in  town,  except,  it  may  be, 
Lucinda  Pickering.'' 

Mr.  Wellmont  looked  steadfastly  away  to  prevent  the  dis- 
covery of  a  smile  at  the  repeated  mention  of  "  Lucinda ;  "  and, 
to  conceal  his  sensations,  proposed  that  they  should  call  at  tho 
cottage. 

Mr.  Wellmont  found  Mrs.  Hale  a  middle-aged,  sensible- 
looking  woman,  with  that  subdued  expression  which  betokens 


44  EDITH     HALE. 

familiarity  with  sorrow  and  sacrifice ;  one  of  that  rare  class 
who,  from  superior  cultivation  of  mind  and  the  richest  graces 
of  the  heart,  are  dignified  without  severity,  self-possessed 
without  assurance,  and  self-denying  without  servility.  In 
earlier  days  of  ease  and  pleasantness  she  had  been  beautiful ; 
now  she  seemed  almost  saint-like  in  her  love  and  matronly 
care. 

"  Such  a  bearing  is  never  the  result  of  uninterrupted  pros- 
perity," thought  Mr.  "Wellmont.  Mrs.  Hale  was  in  feeble 
health  ;  it  was  evident  from  the  frequent  cough  and  the  hectic 
flush  which  came  to  her  cheek  at  the  least  excitement ;  but 
how  cheerful  and  serene  she  was  amid  all  her  sorrows  !  —  as 
though  she  could  even  then  see  the  glory  that  is  prepared  for 
the  faithful  who  endure  to  the  end.  Her  surroundings  were 
simple  and  poor ;  but  all  bore  the  evidence  of  a  culture 
which  was  a  mystery  to  Mr.  Wellmont.  The  fact  of 
former  wealth  did  not  account  for  an  indescribable  air  of 
refinement  and  superiority  which  Mrs.  Hale  cast  about  her 
without  effort  or  pretension.  There  were  no  remnants  of 
better  days,  no  costly  appliances  of  artificial  elegance,  to  assist 
this  impression.  The  windows  were  only  graced  with  a  few 
modest  plants,  and  plain  muslin  curtains,  put  back  upon  com- 
mon nails ;  but  with  an  effect,  indeed,  unexcelled  by  costliest 
damasks.  The  easy-chair  was  covered  with  patch  ;  the  carpet 
was  inexpensive,  and  much  worn,  but  scrupulously  neat ;  and 
the  little  table,  of  a  curious,  old-fashioned  pattern,  was  un- 
adorned, save  with  a  few  choice  religious  books.  As  Mr. 


EDITH     HALE.  45 

Wellmont  glanced  about  him,  with  a  subdued  heart,  he  said 
to  himself,  "  Peace  be  to  this  house  !  " 

Mrs.  Hale  put  by  her  work,  upon  which  her  bread  de- 
pended, and  by  degrees  became  engaged  in  conversation,  for- 
getting her  situation  ;  and,  as  if  transported  to  former  prosper- 
ity, was  blessed  and  blessing,  as  of  old,  with  all  the  strength 
and  brilliancy  of  her  highly-cultivated  mind.  But,  when 
Mr.  Solomon  inquired  for  Edith,  her  face  paled,  and  her  voice 
slightly  trembled,  as  she  replied,  "  She  is  away  at  work  in  the 
factory.  I  miss  her  sadly,  now." 

"  I  thought  jer  health  was  never  strong,"  remarked  Mr. 
Solomon.  "  Fow  can  she  endure  such  an  effort?  " 

"  I  fear  he ;  health  was  never  more  delicate  than  now," 
replied  the  j  lother,  the  tears  suffusing  her  eyes ;  "  but  she 
never  complains,  and  says  the  exercise  will  be  beneficial. 
It  is  a  great  change  for  one  so  young." 

"  She  has  always  been  accustomed  to  school,  and  very  care- 
fully nurtured,"  remarked  Mr.  Solomon  to  Mr.  Wellmont,  by 
way  of  explanation. 

"  Our  object  is,"  said  Mrs.  Hale,  "  to  acquire  means  to 
enable  Edith  to  become  a  pupil  of  the  academy  again,  that 
she  may  be  fitted  to  become  a  teacher.  I  should  have  pre- 
ferred her  taking  some  way  less  laborious  and  trying  than 
this ;  but  she  seemed  so  anxious  to  lose  as  little  time  as 
possible,  I  was  induced  to  consent  to  her  entering  the  factory, 
where  more  could  be  earned  in  a  given  time  than  in  any  other 
situation  which  offered." 

"  You  have  my  most  earnest  wishes  for  success,  Mrs.  Hale," 


46  EDITIIHALE. 

responded  Mr.  "\Vclhnont,  earnestly ;  for  he  was  one  easily 
touched  with  a  feeling  for  others'  woes. 

"  Thank  you.  I  think  we  .shall  succeed  in  this  undertaking, 
unless  her  health  should  fail,"  continued  the  mother.  "She 
studies  now  till  late  in  the  night,  in  order  to  progress  as  fast 
as  possible ;  but,  as  she  cannot  proceed  much  further  to  equal 
advantage  without  a  teacher,  I  aui  hoping  to  give  her  a  pleas- 
ant surprise,  by  producing  money  enough  to  enable  her  to 
enter  school  by  the  autumn  term.  Excuse  me,  however,"  she 
added ;  "  I  should  not  allow  such  matters  to  engross  the 
attention  of  another.  I  find  myself  too  frequently  betrayed 
into  inconsistencies  by  the  influence  of  my  changed  manner 
of  life." 

"  No  apology  is  necessary,  madam,"  replied  Mr.  "Wellmont, 
with  fervor.  "  I  feel  an  interest  in  yourself  and  your 
daughter;  and  if  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you  while  I 
remain  here,  I  shall  be  happy  to  give  it." 

"  Fortunate  Edith  is  so  young  ! "  thought  Mr.  Solomon,  who 
was  fertile  in  suggestions.  "  He  would  never  think  of  marry- 
ing her,  though,  now  she  is  so  poor,  if  she  were  old  enough 
to  be  a  minister's  wife." 

"  I  have  engaged  board  here  for  a  few  weeks,  with  the 
family  of  Deacon  Dennis,"  continued  Mr.  Wellmont,  in  reply 
to  Mrs.  Ilale's  expressions  of  gratitude ;  "  and,  meantime, 
if  your  daughter  wishes  assistance  in  her  studies,  I  will  cheer- 
fully instruct  her.  I  shall  be  at  liberty  on  Tuesday  and 
Friday  evenings  after  this." 

Other  visits  were  made  by  Mr.  Wellmont  on  that  afternoon, 


EDITIIIIALE.  47 

so  that  lie  gathered  considerable  knowledge  of  the  people  to 
whom  he  was  introduced.  But  the  day  waned,  and  a  chill 
spring  wind  arose  with  the  nightfall,  which,  with  the  moist- 
ure of  the  atmosphere,  peculiarly  affected  a  temperament  like 
that  of  Mr.  Wellmont. 

He  went  to  a  new  boarding-place,  and  was  shown  to  his 
room,  where  no  cheerful  fire  awaited  him,  with  the  home 
accompaniments  of  the  arm-chair,  the  dressing-gown  and 
slippers,  arranged  by  some  loving  hand  ;  but,  though  bearing 
the  distinction  of  the  best  guest-chamber,  it  was  drear,  pre- 
cise, and  stately  enough  to  recall  all  the  sad  associations  of 
a  lifetime.  But,  at  the  summons  of  the  tea-bell,  a  pleasant  vision 
flitted  before  him ;  and,  with  a  hopeful  smile,  he  descended  to 
the  parlor.  He  found  a  table  laid  with  covered  dishes,  around 
which,  at  their  several  chairs,  stood  Deacon  Dennis,  his  wife, 
and  daughter  Alitha,  and  two  children.  By  request,  Mr.  AVell- 
mont  invoked  a  blessing,  in  which  he  thanked  Heaven  for  the 
bountiful  provision  of  Providence,  by  which  the  miracle  of  life 
was  daily  renewed ;  and  prayed  that  spiritual  food  might  also 
be  given  to  nourish  and  strengthen  the  soul,  which  liveth  for- 
ever. 

Much  of  the  true  impulses  of  one's  heart  may  be  discerned 
from  the  hospitalities  of  his  table ;  the  generous  man  dis- 
tributes from  his  bounty  with  a  free  hand.  Deacon  Dennis 
was  one  of  the  wealthiest  citizens  of  Waterbury.  He  had 
inherited  wealth,  acquired  much  more  by  his  own  efforts,  and 
received  wealth  by  his  wife.  Wealth  seemed  naturally  to 
adhere  to  him,  as  it  does  to  a  class  of  persons  of  a  peculiar 


48  EDITH     HALE. 

organization,  whose  touch,  like  Midas',  transmutes  everything 
to  gold.  He  was  what  is  termed  one  of  the  pillars  of  the 
church;  for,  not  only  did  he  discharge  the  duties  of  his 
ecclesiastical  office  with  order  and  promptitude,  and  render 
cringing  service  to  all  ministers  of  his  own  faith  in  whose  way 
he  fell,  but  he  gave  liberally  to  missionary  and  educational 
societies.  Rarely  was  he  seen  to  throw  in  less  than  a  bank- 
bill  to  the  contribution-box,  and  his  name  figured  often  in 
the  religious  paper  of  his  denomination  as  the  donor  of 
sums  to  constitute  various  persons  life-members  of  these 
societies.  But  Deacon  Dennis  was  one  of  those  persons  who 
think  every  thing  eaten  is  so  much  utterly  wasted  ;  and  so  the 
provision  for  "the  daily  miracle  of  life"  was  scarcely  "boun- 
tifjil,"  even  when  his  board  was  graced  by  the  presence  of  a 
clergyman.  He  believed  with  the  Mahometan  crier,  who 
says,  when  he  announces  the  hour  of  prayer,  "  Praying  is 
better  than  food." 

Mrs.  Dennis,  and  the  oldest  daughter,  Alitha,  were  partic- 
ular to  have  all  their  domestic  arrangements  as  faultless,  in 
neatness  and  order,  as  possible.  The  table  was  always  cov- 
ered with  the  snowiest  linen,  and  the  glass,  china,  and  silver, 
were  radiant  with  the  polish  of  cleanliness.  But  the  few 
dishes  were  scantily  provided,  and  that  with  substances  but 
poorly  fitted  to  sustain  the  strength  of  active,  vigorous  people, 
who  did  not  design  to  take  life  in  homeopathic  doses.  The 
prospect  to  Mr.  Wellmont  was  but  little  superior  to  the  eating 
of  the  fairies  in  Herrick's  Hesperides  : 


EDITH     HALE.  49 

««  A  little  musliroom-table  spread; 
After  short  prayers,  they  set  on  bread, 
A  moon-parched  grain  of  purest  wheat, 
With  some  small  glittering  grit,  to  eat 
His  choicest  bits  with  ;  then,  in  a  trice, 
They  make  a  feast  less  great  than  nice." 

Notwithstanding  he  had  secret  hopes  of  some  time  attaining 
greatness,  and  knew  that  great  men  were  oftenest  perfectly 
indifferent  to  what  they  ate,  he  had  a  keen  sense  of  the  luxury 
of  good,  plain,  and  plentiful  food ;  and,  being  one  who  made 
great  and  repeated  mental  and  bodily  exertions,  it  was  his 
conviction  that  such  food  was  indispensable  to  his  health. 
By  some  indefinable  impression,  he  had  an  uncomfortable 
feeling,  also,  that  every  mouthful  he  consumed  came  under 
the  eye  of  the  master  or  mistress  of  the  house,  and  that  they 
remembered  its  exact  cost.  He  saw  the  two  boys,  who  sat 
opposite  him,  pass  their  plates  for  renewal  with  a  lurking 
fear  and  want  of  confidence,  as  if  they  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  being  refused,  but  thought,  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger, 
they  might  venture  without  peril ;  and,  occasionally,  when 
the  deacon  was  engrossed  in  conversation,  they  slipped  off  a 
bit  from  the  plates  nearest  them  to  their  own,  with  great 
celerity  and  caution.  Mr.  Wellmont,  however,  was  not  dis- 
posed to  be  scrupulous  at  everything  which  did  not  exactly 
coincide  with  his  preferences ;  and,  secretly  wishing  that  his 
home  was  in  a  certain  brown  cottage,  where  the  social  atmos- 
phere was  so  much  more  agreeable,  he  put  on  a  cheerful  face, 

and  determined  to  make  the  best  of  whatever  came  in  his  way. 
5 


50  EDITH     HALE. 

This  commendable  reconciliation  was  not  a  little  assisted 
by  frequent  calls  upon  Mrs.  Hale,  for  whom,  at  every  inter- 
view, his  respect  increased.  Unluckily,  he  saw  but  little  of 
Edith,  who  was  seldom  present  on  these  occasions ;  for  she 
could  not  readily  overcome  the  mistake  which  had  signalized 
their  introduction.  At  last,  Mr.  Wellmont  persuaded  her 
mother  to  promise  that  she  should  accept  his  assistance  in  her 
studies,  in  company  with  Alitha  Dennis. 

On  returning  from  the  first  of  these  interviews  at  the  house 
of  Deacon  Dennis,  she  said  to  her  mother :  "  I  am  so  glad  I 
went !  Mr.  Wellmont  received  me  very  kindly,  so  that  I 
quite  forgot  my  humiliations,  till  Mrs.  Dennis,  who  sat  listen- 
Ing,  inquired  of  me  how  I  liked  working  in  the  factory ;  and 
her  thin  lip  curled  so  haughtily  I  came  near  weeping  upon 
the  spot.  But  I  forced  back  my  tears,  and  replied  as  intel- 
ligibly as  I  could." 

" Be  very  patient,  Edith,"  said  her  mother.  "Out  of  all 
this  affliction  our  heavenly  Father  will  bring  us  in  his  own 
good  time,  and  it  shall  work  out  for  us  the  peaceable  fruits  of 
righteousness.  Heaven  will  be  dearer  to  me,  and  earth  the 
truer  to  you." 

"  Mr.  Wellmont  is  the  most  agreeable  man  I  ever  knew  !  " 
said  Edith,  after  a  lapse  of  thought.  Mrs.  Hale  lifted  her 
eyes  from  her  work  upon  the  face  of  her  child,  as  if  she  would 
read  there  the  sentiments  and  emotions  of  her  soul.  Edith 
was  unusually  flushed  with  excitement,  and  the  mother  could 
scarcely  fail  to  see  how  beautiful  the  radiance  of  her  heart 
had  made  her.  Her  cheeks  were  like  the  freshest  blush  roses, 


E  D  I  T  II     II  A  L  E  .  51 

and  her  dark,  thoughtful  eyes  beamed  with  a  light,  as  though 
joy,  like  a  swift-winged  angel,  had  returned  through  the  gate 
of  tears. 

"  How  is  he  the  most  agreeable  ?  "  inquired  her  mother. 

"  He  is  so  unlike  our  old  minister,  who  made  one  feel  so 
very  insignificant  in  his  presence,  that  after  a  while  I  began 
to  breathe  naturally ;  and  I  gathered  sufficient  courage  to  ask 
several  questions,  all  of  which  he  answered  by  such  clear  and 
beautiful  illustrations  :  old  truths  seemed  new,  and  the  plain- 
est facts  were  garnished  with  rare  attractions.  He  has  a 
way,  too,  of  introducing  classical  allusions  with  the  happiest 
point.  But,  more  than  all  this,  his  smile,  and  the  look  of  his 
clear,  full  eye,  so  kindly,  almost  loving !  "  But,  perceiving 
her  mother's  peculiar  expression,  she  stopped  abruptly,  and 
blushed  deeply.  "  If  such  persons  only  knew  the  great,  the 
infinite  happiness  they  contribute,"  she  continued,  after  a 
moment's  composure,  "  by  condescending  to  those  of  low 
estate,  they  would  feel  that  in  so  doing  there  was  exceeding 
great  reward." 

"That  is  true,  my  dear,"  replied  Mrs.  Hale;  "but  you 
must  not  presume  upon  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Wellmont.  True 
good  breeding  manifests  itself  more  in  freedom  from  presump- 
tion than  in  any  other  way,  perhaps." 

Edith  sighed  heavily ;  the  bright  light  went  down  from  her 
eyes ;  and,  as  the  hours  wore  wearily  on,  the  color  faded  from 
her  cheeks,  and  her  thoughts  were  of  the  curse  and  bitterness 
of  poverty,  that  rose  ever  beside  her  hopes,  like  a  destructive 
wind  to  sweep  them  away  into  the  depths  of  darkness. 


52  EDITH     1IALE. 

"  My  child,"  said  Mrs.  Hale,  as  she  folded  her  work  for  the 
night,  "  it  is  very  late ;  but  we  must  not  forget  our  devotions." 
Edith  opened  the  Bible,  and,  in  her  clear,  sweet  voice,  read 
from  those  blessed  truths  of  the  Gospel  which  ever  soothe, 
strengthen,  and  encourage.  And,  when  she  came  to  the  words 
"Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ? — shall 
tribulation,  or  distress,  or  persecution,  or  famine,"  &c.,  her 
voice  softened  into  a  channel  of  grief,  and  the  late  hardness 
of  her  heart,  born  of  repinings  and  unreconciliation,  was  sub- 
dued to  love,  that  blessed  love  of  which  she  read,  in  conclusion, 
"  For  I  am  persuaded  that  neither  death,  nor  life,  nor  angels, 
nor  principalities,  nor  powers,  nor  things  present,  nor  things 
to  come,  nor  height,  nor  depth,  nor  any  other  creature,  shall 
be  able  to  separate  us  from  the  love  of  God  which  is  in  Christ 
Jesus  our  Lord." 


CHAPTER    IV. 

MINISTER-MAKING   AND   OTHER   MATTERS. 

MR.  WELLMONT  rapidly  won  friends,  so  that  at  the  expi- 
ration of  his  time  of  preaching  as  a  candidate  in  Waterbury, 
the  church  were  unanimous  in  desiring  him  to  settle  among 
them  as  their  pastor.  The  call  was  promptly  made  and 
accepted.  But  the  young  minister  was  not  elated  with  his 
'  success ;  he  was  an  ambitious  man,  and  had  sketched  great 
things  for  himself  prospectively.  His  ultimate  promised 
land  was  some  flourishing  city  church ;  but  he  concluded  it 
would  be  well  for  him  to  accept  a  situation  so  superior,  for 
the  country,  as  that  presented  in  Waterbury;  at  least,  it 
would  do  till  a  better  could  be  obtained,  —  it  would  do  to 
practise  and  experiment  upon,  till  he  had  won  larger  expe- 
rience and  reputation. 

The  ceremonies  of  his  ordination  to  the  work  of  the  min- 
istry took  place  very  much  like  all  other  ordinations.  A 
large  concourse  of  people  were  present,  including  a  number 
of  clergymen,  with  their  wives ;  and  liberal  entertainment 
was  provided  by  the  leading  members  of  the  parish.  One  or 
two  things  were  especially  noticeable  on  this  occasion.  A 
5*  * 


54  E  I)  I  T  H    II  A  L  E . 

divine  somewhat  celebrated,  from  the  city,  preached  the  ser- 
mon, in  which  he  drew  very  largely  from  his  own  experience, 
much  more  than  from  that  of  the  apostles,  and  the  rather 
preached  himself,  than  Christ  and  him  crucified.  He  failed  to 
make  the  very  impression  he  seemed  desirous  of  giving.  His 
individualities,  upon  recital,  fell  far  below  what  his  hearers 
had  previously  imagined ;  as  it  invariably  happens,  a  man  stu- 
diously setting  off  himself,  from  the  very  nature  of  the  case 
only  makes  a  ridiculous  failure.  A  man  of  second-rate  abilities, 
though,  by  dint  of  various  effort,  he  had  acquired  a  sidewise 
reputation  among  the  first,  he  was  secretly  fearful  he  should 
not  be  always  and  everywhere  appreciated.  The  speaker's  voice 
was  loud  and  dissonant,  and  his  discourse  was  very  lengthy, 
which  made  it  doubly  tedious.  The  same  spirit  seemed  to  ani- 
mate him  as  does  that  species  of  falcon  found  in  Africa,  which, 
travellers  tell  us,  is  so  impressed  with  the  idea  of  its  own 
powers,  that  it  will  sit  for  half  a  day  perched  upon  the  sum- 
mit of  a  tall  tree,  uttering  incessant  cries,  which  the  darkness 
of  night  is  sometimes  insufficient  to  terminate. 

"  It  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Humphrey  to  her  hus- 
band, afterwards,  "  how  Dr.  Naylor  has  acquired  such  a 
reputation.  I  am  sure  I  should  judge  him  as  inferior  to  one 
third  of  our  country  pastors,  had  I  not  known  who  he  was." 

"  Humbug  !  "  said  Dr.  Humphrey  ;  "  have  you  yet  to  learn 
that  the  largest  proportion  of  great  reputation  is  made  out 
of  humbug?  A  man  gets  a  name  by  behaving  the  lion  in 
public,  the  jackal  in  private ;  he  swells  immoderately,  tickles 
the  self-love  of  people,  flatters  their  prejudices,  ar.d  blows 


EDITH     IIALE.  55 

his  own  horn  on  all  possible  occasions,  and,  above  all,  looks 
out  to  get  under  full  sail  in  the  most  -popular  current  of  the 
times,  —  as  migrating  squirrels,  when  they  wish  to  cross  a 
stream  of  water,  jump  on  a  piece  of  bark  and  raise  their  tails 
to  catch  the  wind,  —  and  the  people  generally  are  such  fools, 
such  unmitigated  asses,  they  really  believe  they  are  following  a 
demigod !  I  tell  you  the  race  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor  the  battle 
to  the  strong.  In  most  cases  in  this  world  real  greatness  is 
never  recognized  save  by  a  few  private  individuals  —  oftenest 
not  at  all ;  like  that  poor  wise  man,  who  by  his  wisdom  deliv- 
ered the  city,  yet  no  man  remembered  that  same  poor  mau.v 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  say  that  the  reputations  of  the 
clergy  are  obtained  in  this  way  ?  "  pursued  his  wife,  somewhat 
alarmed. 

"  Of  course  not ;  I  suppose  I  must  refer  chiefly  to  those 
called  world's  people ;  but  I  do  mean  that  in  the  upward  race 
for  fortune,  in  whatever  profession,  those  men  the  most  un- 
scrupulous, full  of  bombast,  respect  for  themselves  and 
disrespect  for  others,  oftenest  get  ahead  of  the  true  plodder, 
who  pauses  to  make  his  footing  sure  and  honorable  for  the 
perilous  ascent ;  and  these  bags  of  wind  look  back  upon  them 
from  their  serene  pinnacles,  and  shout,  '  The  deuce  take  the 
hindmost ! '  or,  more  classically,  as  when  we  doctors  want  to 
gild  a  bad-sounding  prescription, '  occupet  extremum  scabies.''  'r 

"  Wicked  man  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Humphrey,  "  to  talk  thus 
in  connection,  even  the  most  remote,  with  a  minister !  " 

"  A  minister  !  "  repeated  the  doctor ;  "  why  not  as  soon  in 
connection  with  a  doctor  of  divinity  as  a  doctor  of  medicine? 


56  EDITHHALE. 

One  cures  or  kills  the  souls,  the  other  the  bodies,  of  men ; 
where  's  such  a  dignified  difference  ?  The  soul  is  in  a  poor 
condition  here,  for  religion  or  anything  else,  without  a  well 
body.  St.  Real  says,  '  He  who  speaks  of  a  doctor  (no  matter 
whether  of  theology  or  pathology)  does  not  always  speak  of  a 
learned  man,  but  only  of  a  man  who  aught  to  be  learned.'  " 

The  charge  to  the  people  was  by  a  minister  of  one  of  the 
adjacent  towns,  who  was  a  man  not  yet  in  middle  life,  and 
was  very  well  followed  after  for  the  smoothness  of  his  voice 
and  attractiveness  of  his  manner,  in  connection  with  such 
trifles  as  some  men  would  never  have  noticed  at  all.  More- 
over, he  was  generally  a  favorite  of  the  ladies  wherever  he 
went ;  for  he  was  a  kind  of  pocket  edition  of  a  man,  elegantly 
bound  and  gilt,  with  a  euphonious  name  outside,  in  very 
large  letters.  His  charge  was  decidedly  positive,  nothing 
about  it  admitting  of  doubt ;  for  he  was  one  of  those  ministers 
who  preach  more  of  what  divines  call  the  agenda  than  the 
credenda  —  always  upon  what  we  are  bound  to  do,  rather 
than  what  to  believe.  His  mind  was  of  that  largely-peopled 
class,  which  never  soars  itself,  or  carries  that  of  others, 
above  words ;  consequently  he  inspired  no  exaltation  or 
enthusiasm,  none  of  the  higher  order  of  emotions,  but 
simply  instructed  by  exposition  and  admonition.  And  so, 
upon  an  occasion  like  this,  an  inferior  part  of  the  exercise 
was  assigned  him.  This  young  man,  of  limited  miscellaneous 
reading  and  experience,  of  very  narrow  views  of  human 
nature  and  the  great  principles  of  its  right  direction,  stood 
there  before  elderly  men  of  sound  sense,  and  of  the  wisdom 


EDITH     HALE.  57 

of  the  Scriptures  and  practical  life,  and  told  them  what  to  do, 
in  the  manner  of  a  teacher  directing  a  class  in  a  primary- 
school  ;  —  told  them  how  to  live  with  their  minister  from  day  to 
day  and  year  to  year ;  how  to  accost  him,  to  preserve  his  feel- 
ings uninjured;  to  provide  for  him,  and  keep  him  from  moth 
and  rust,  as  a  housewife  would  keep  her  woollens  and  silver. 
Especially  did  he  dwell  upon  the  reverence  due  their  minister. 

"  The  times  are  getting  more  and  more  degenerate,"  said 
he,  flourishing  his  small,  white  hands;  "  and  we  look  to  the 
church  to  set  the  great  example  of  respect  for  those  •who  are 
the  prophets  of  God,  and  expound  his  oracles.  '  He  that 
receiveth  a  prophet  in  the  name  of  a  prophet,  shall  receive  a 
prophet's  reward.'  And  '  Believe  his  prophets,  so  shall  ye 
prosper.'  I  charge  you,  my  brethren,  not  to  set  your  faces 
against  him  at  every  fault  you  imagine  you  see  in  him ;  for 
this  frequent  changing  of  ministers  is  a  reproach  to  the 
religion  of  Christ.  You  should  not  expect  him  to  do  or  say 
everything  agreeable  to  each  of  your  several  standards ;  but 
rather  according  to  his  own  standard,  which  is  the  truth." 

"  Yes,  that 's  true  enough,"  added  Father  Shaw,  mentally, 
recalling  a  verse  out  of  an  almanac  of  the  eighteenth 

century : 

"  Who  seeks  to  please  all  men  each  way, 

And  not  himself  offend, 
He  may  begin  his  task  to-day, 

But  God  knows  where  he  '11  end." 

"  But  we  'd  ruther  be  told  on  't  as  if  we  'd  some  rights  our- 
selves, and  wan't  like  a  tribe  of  ants  in  a  heap,  with  a  foot 
set  top  on  us." 


58  E  DII1I     HALE. 

Much  more  in  this  wise  did  this  minister  deliver,  and  con- 
cluded by  getting  into  a  furious  passion  with  people  in  general, 
which  he  vented  by  pounding  the  pulpit-cushion,  and  working 
himself  into  a  ludicrous  excitement,  that  passed  among  his 
female  friends  for  "  perfectly  splendid  oratory." 

Not  long  after  this,  in  progress  of  the  exercises,  arose  an 
elderly  divine,  who  represented  a  leading  parish  of  the  city, 
and  offered  a  prayer,  in  that  calm,  fervent  spirit,  which  con- 
trasted effectively  with  the  preceding  exercises.  It  relieved 
the  soifl ;  as  the  eye  rests  upon  the  velvet  green  sward,  dotted 
with  waving  trees,  in  a  gentle  summer  rain,  where  late  all 
was  parched,  and  harsh,  and  painful  to  the  sense.  It  was 
like  the  palpable  stillness  of  a  deep  wood,  broken  only  by  the 
solemn  flow  of  the  stream  which  cleaves  its  heart,  on  which 
can  be  seen  reflections  of  the  humblest  wild-flower  of  its 
banks,  as  well  as  the  grand,  majestic  clouds  of  the  heavens 
above.  Each  heart  went  out  with  the  speaker  toward  the 
throne  of  God,  and  returned  not  till  laden  with  adoration, 
humility,  and  love.  They  felt  that  he  who  led  them  now  had 
acquainted  himself  with  the  great  Mediator,  and  went  not 
before  him  as  a  stranger,  with  the  language  of  the  world. 
But  his  words  were  few,  so  that  the  audience  unconsciously 
listened  afterwards,  as  if  to  catch  one  more  strain  of  the  har- 
mony of  a  soul  at  peace  with  God. 

The  exercises  of  the  day  were  generally  of  great  interest 
to  the  members  of  the  parish,  but  some  were  much  more 
interested  than  others,  according  to  their  different  temper- 
aments. Julia  Pickering  declared  it  was  the  most  auspicious 


EDI  TXH     HALE.  59 

day  of  her  life ;  she  sat  with,  the  choir,  and  led  one  part, 
with  unbonneted  head,  dressed  in  ringlets  which  fell  to  her 
waist.  The  "  book-worm"  pronounced  it  dull  —  it  was  such 
a  bore  to  hear  all  these  tedious  things  the  ministers  said ;  for 
her  part,  she  would  rather  remain  at  home  and  read  the  last 
novel.  Claudine  subsequently  sketched  the  scene  of  the  or- 
daining prayer,  and  exhibited  it  extensively  to  her  friends. 
Mr.  Solomon  Acre  said  the  ministers,  with  their  hands  extended 
on  Mr.  Wellmont's  head,  as  they  were  represented,  looked  like 
so  many  people  clawing  into  a  grab-bag.  Mrs.  "Witherell  was 
inexpressibly  shocked  on  being  informed  of  this  by  Zephaniah 
Wilkins  ;  and,  the  very  earliest  opportunity,  sent  Mr.  Solomon 
a  tract.  The  sketch  was  also  shown  Mr.  Wellmont,  who  said 
it  reminded  him  of  the  ancient  practice  of  stichomancy, 
which  he  had  seen  represented  by  several  persons  standing 
around  a  vessel,  from  which,  after  being  shaken,  they  drew 
out  small  slips  of  paper  inscribed  from  the  sibylline  books. 

"  But  our  minister's  head  is  full  of  verses  from  the  Book 
of  books,"  observed  Miss  Pickering,  much  pleased  at  the 
correspondence  of  her  idea. 

Deacon  Dennis  exerted  himself  so  much  on  that  occasion 
he  was  quite  overcome.  It  was  one  of  the  glorious  events 
of  his  life,  for  he  loved  the  society  of  the  clergy  to  that 
degree,  no  privilege  could  be  dearer  to  him  than  that  of  being 
permitted  to  follow  in  their  train ;  like  Dr.  Clarke,  the  trav- 
eller, who  said  that,  for  the  sake  of  Tweddell's  society,  he 
would  have  consented  to  black  his  shoes.  He  swallowed  all 
their  words  of  burning  eloquence,  as  it  is  asserted  by  nat- 


60  EDITH     HALE. 

uralists  frogs  will  swallow  fire.  The  presence  of  so  many 
ministers  as  a  unity  of  reverence,  what  with  obsequious 
attention,  supervision,  shaking  hands  at  church,  and  entertain- 
ing at  home,  rendered  him  on  the  following  day  unable  to 
leave  his  room,  and  he  was  threatened  with  a  brain  fever. 
His  ailing  maturing  rapidly  into  sickness,  Mr.  Wellmont  pro- 
posed to  Mrs.  Dennis  and  Alitha  to  obtain  some  other  board- 
ing-place, that  their  unusual  cares  might  in  some  degree  be 
lightened.  With  considerable  reluctance  they  at  last  con- 
sented ;  but  the  thought  of  losing  so  much  distinction  as  the 
boarding  of  the  minister  conferred  was  a  great  self-denial. 

Mr.  Wellmont  regretted  the  illness  of  Deacon  Dennis,  but 
he  was  secretly  glad  of  the  prospect  of  a  new  home.  He  had 
lost  weight  by  many  pounds  since  coming  to  Waterbury,  and 
the  cause  was  not  wholly  attributable  to  his  increasing  labors 
and  responsibilities.  A  letter  written  by  the  young  minister 
to  his  mother  about  this  time  may  serve  to  interpret  his  feel- 
ings more  perfectly  than  his  outward  seeming  to  the  world  in 
which  he  moved,  as  it  was  dictated  by  the  familiar  confidence 
of  the  son,  instead  of  the  dignified  restraint  of  the  profession. 

"  DEAR  MOTHER  :  From  what  I  have  written  you,  of  late, 
you  will  not  regret  to  learn  that  I  have  changed  my  boarding- 
place.  My  present  residence  is  with  the  family  of  Mr.  Phan- 
uel,  whose  wife  only  is  a  member  of  my  church.  But  Mr. 
Phanuel,  though  without  any  pretensions  to  religion,  is  one  of 
my  most  generous  friends.  It  would  seem  at  present  that  my 
condition  is  improved  in  all  respects.  The  family  arrange- 


EDIT  II     II  ALE.  61 

ments  are  liberal  as  one  could  desire,  and  everything  is  done 
for  my  comfort  which  can  be  suggested,  so  that  I  am  no 
longer  an  Erisichthon  overshadowed  by  the  wings  of  the 
demon  of  hunger. 

"  As  this  will  probably  be  my  home  for  some  time  to 
come,  and  I  know  you  are  always  interested  in  the  minutest 
affairs  pertaining  to  me,  I  shall  give  you  a  few  hasty  sketches 
of  my  surroundings.  Mr.  Phanuel  is  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able men  I  ever  saw,  —  which  is  an  assertion  of  considerable 
breadth  to  apply  to  a  citizen  of  a  place  like  this.  Having  a 
very  extensive  business,  he  is  said  to  be  amassing  property 
rapidly ;  consequently  he  lives  in  the  best  house  in  Waterbury, 
drives  the  best  horses,  and  subscribes  most  liberally  to  all 
public  and  religious  interests.  But  this  all  is  no  wise  remark- 
able. It  is  his  genius  for  progress  to  which  I  allude,  and 
which,  notwithstanding  its  proud  results,  renders  him  dissat- 
isfied with  everything.  Nothing  ever  quite  attains  to  his 
standard ;  he  hourly  blames  his  wife,  house,  employes,  even 
the  most  manifest  operations  of  Providence,  if  they  interfere 
with  his  designs.  He  is  always  apparently  in  a  deep  study, 
and  one  which  bodes  no  peace.  Mrs.  Phanuel  is  a  quiet, 
sensitive,  excellent-hearted  woman,  whose  advantages  for 
education  I  should  infer  have  been  limited.  Indeed,  I  have 
been  informed  by  Mr.  Zephaniah  Wilkins,  who  gives  me, 
gratuitously  and  unasked,  all  the  private  histories  of  people 
here,  that  she  was  born  and  bred  in  humble  circumstances,  but 
6 


62  EDITHHALE. 

that  even  in  this  condition  her  friends  opposed  her  marriage 
with  Mr.  Phanuel,  as  one  who  was  then  much  inferior  to  her, 
being  the  equivocal  son  of  a  degraded  father  in  the  lowest 
walks  of  life.  But  he  has  gained  rapidly  from  that  time,  and 
I  can  see  he  possesses  the  elements  of  a  character  of  great 
power.  His  wife  has  not  kept  pace  with  his  advancement, 
having  been  too  closely  occupied  in  striving  to  please  her 
husband,  whom  she  fears  like  a  tyrant,  in  taking  care  of 
her  children,  and  guiding  the  affairs  of  her  household.  I 
never  compassionated  woman  more  than  this  amiable,  timid 
wife  of  a  man  who  is  gaining  the  higher  rounds  of  life 
with  the  strides  of  a  giant,  and  leaving  her  far  behind, 
without  sympathy,  love,  or  consolation.  To  no  one  does  she 
evince  such  inferiority  as  to  her  husband ;  the  very  sight  of 
his  handsome,  athletic  figure,  his  keen,  deep-set  eyes,  the  com- 
pression of  his  wide,  thin  lips,  oppresses  her  to  absolute  noth- 
ingness. But  she  loves  him  to  adoration ;  none  can  doubt  it 
who  ever  heard  her  speak  his  name,  or  saw  the  tear  tremble 
in  her  eye  when  he  turns  away  from  her  with  ill-concealed 
scorn  at  her  failure  to  exactly  meet  his  requirements  in  some 
domestic  arrangements. 

"  Yesterday  they  received  company,  as  is  frequently  the 
case,  for  Mr.  Phanuel  has  the  ungrudging  hospitality  of  a 
Southron.  A  gay,  dashing,  intellectual  lady  was  among 
the  visitors,  who  banished  every  other  woman  in  her  presence 
into  shadow.  She  could  say  anything  in  the  most  au  fait 
manner,  and  entertain  the  gentlemen  with  conversation  upon 
politics,  the  last  fashionable  book,  metaphysics,  or  music, — 


EDIXHHALE.  63 

one  of  that  class  of  women  who  remind  us  of  Lady  Blessington 
and  George  Sand.  She  was  dressed  with  great  elegance,  I 
suppose  (for,  though  I  never  notice  the  details  of  a  lady's 
attire,  I  have  an  impression  of  the  tout  ensemble),  and  was 
altogether  suggestive  of  the  green  lizard,  which,  whenever  it 
sees  a  man,  seems  to  take  pleasure  in  displaying  the  brilliance 
of  its  eyes  and  its  gorgeously-colored  scales. 

"  This  lady  attracted  Mr.  Phanuel  exceedingly,  as  all  could 
see,  and  more  especially  his  wife.  He  never  unbends  from 
his  frigid  dignity  enough  to  actually  flirt,  or  flatter  the  ladies ; 
but  for  once  he  forgot  his  scheming,  and  became  moved,  ab- 
sorbed, almost  entranced,  with  the  charms  of  this  siren.  His 
eyes  followed  her  superb  figure  everywhere ;  and  I  thought  he 
had  at  length  found  one  object  for  which  he  could  summon  no 
criticism  for  improvement.  Mrs.  Phanuel  looked  on,  as  the 
shipwrecked  mariner,  who  sees  the  haven  of  all  his  earthly 
hopes  rapidly  receding  from  his  view ;  she  looked  as  Iphigenia 
with  the  high-headed  Electra  in  pursuit  of  her  with  a  fire- 
brand, trembling,  scared,  unknowing  whither  to  turn  for  succor. 
If  I  had  not  been  a  clergyman,  I  should  certainly  have  donned 
the  character  of  Orestes,  and  appeared  in  her  aid.  Such 
women  as  this  fascinating  stranger  fail  to  attract  me,  for  I 
am  used  to  them  well.  I  met  hundreds  during  my  college 
days,  and,  after  falling  in  love  once  or  twice,  and  finding  my- 
self a  fool  to  be  laughed  at  by  them,  I  steeled  myself  with  the 
armor  of  polite  indifference ;  and  she  knew  I  was  not  her 
dupe  as  well  as  I  did,  for  all  such  women  are  fully  conscious 
where  they  rivet  their  chains.  She  doubtless  voted  me  a 


64  EDITH     II  ALE. 

stupid  theologian,  who  had  only  a  talent  for  dogmas  and 
clerical  reserve. 

"It  is  said,  the  mother  of  Achilles  dipped  him  when  an 
infant  in  the  waters  of  the  Styx,  which  made  him  invulnerable 
everywhere  except  in  the  heel,  by  which  she  held  him  ;  and, 
thanks  to  your  watchful  care,  dear  mother,  I  think  I  was 
rendered  invulnerable  in  my  boyhood,  except  in  my  heart,  by 
which  you  held  me.  For  I  have  found  one  of  your  sex  in 
this  quiet  country  place  who  already  interests  me  unusually. 
She  is  the  only  daughter  of  a  widow  reduced  from  former  in- 
dependence to  humble  circumstances.  I  sometimes  assist  her 
in  her  studies,  and  she  listens  to  me  with  such  delicate 
attention,  and  expresses  her  ideas  with  so  much  conciseness, 
yet  with  unusual  intelligence,  that  —  well,  I  have  no  words 
that  can  express  the  manner  of  Edith  Hale.  At  least,  I  know 
she  is  the  incarnation  of  purity  and  beauty.  But  lam  not  in 
love.  No  !  have  no  fears  for  me  in  this  connection.  I  will 
say,  however,  had  I  a  fortune,  and  were  the  master  of  my 
actions,  independent  of  what  the  world  would  say  of  me,  I 
never  saw  one  whom  I  should  prefer  for  a  life-companion 
before  this  young  girl.  Her  mother,  a  dignified  and  highly- 
cultivated  woman,  reminds  me  of  yourself;  so  calm,  and 
serene,  and  thoughtful  for  one's  interests. 

"  You  ask  me  :  '  My  son,  have  you  forgotten  your  parish  ? ' 
I  should  have  written  of  this  before.  The  people  seem  very 
kind  and  considerate,  and  I  think  they  are  proud  of  me.  It 
is  somewhat  of  a  task,  as  many  a  minister  has  found  it  before, 
to  go  around  among  all  of  them  indiscriminately,  aud  smile, 


EDITIIIIALE.  65 

and  inquire,  and  make  myself  their  property.  I  do  it,  how- 
ever, with  as  good  grace  as  possible ;  for  I  feel  desirous  to 
accomplish  a  great  amount  of  good,  and  already  feel  no  little 
interest  in  the  spiritual  welfare  of  many  of  my  people.  I 
know  I  should  be  happier  were  I  at  the  head  of  a  nourishing 
parish  in  the  city,  and  feel  within  a  capability  for  much  higher 
things  than  I  am  called  upon  at  present  to  perform.  But  I 
do  not  have  to  make  half  the  effort  I  should  feel  obliged  to  in 
a  position  of  greater  responsibility.  The  committee  have 
agreed  upon  my  salary  at  seven  hundred  dollars,  and  Mr. 
Phanuel  tells  me  he  shall  not  take  any  pay  for  my  board  ;  but 
adds,  '  Don't  tell  the  parish,  for  they  won't  think  it  necessary 
to  give  you  so  much,  if  they  hear  of  it.'  How  can  I  find  fault 
with  a  man  who  is  so  liberal  to  me  as  this  ? 

"  You  would  like  a  description  of  my  sanctum  sanctorum  ! 
Well,  here  is  my  study :  A  spacious  chamber,  with  windows 
looking  upon  one  side  over  a  beautiful  lawn  in  front  of  the 
house,  skirted  with  grand  old  trees,  which  afford  a  delightful 
shadow  between  me  and  the  white  houses  opposite.  And 
when  they  sough  heavily  in  the  night-winds,  I  am  reminded, 
between  my  dreams,  waking  and  sleeping,  of  those  old  scyca- 
mores  in  our  own  yard  at  home,  whose  deep  volume  of  sound 
I  used  to  liken,  you  remember,  to  the  funereal  chant  of  the 
billows  for  the  dead  who  were  slumbering  down  in  the  hollow 
caverns  of  the  ocean.  My  windows  at  the  south  open  on  a 
large  garden,  which,  a  little  later,  will  flourish  under  the  care 
of  the  gardener.  The  house  is  so  elevated  that  I  can  see  in  the 
distance  a  very  fine  landscape  of  water,  lowland,  and  wood, 
6* 


66  EDITHHALE. 

while  across  one  interval  the  buildings  of  an  adjoining  town 
are  visible.  Within  my  room  are  pictures,  lounges,  easy- 
chairs  —  everything  to  make  me  comfortable.  My  books; 
the  portrait  of  yourself,  and  my  writing  apparatus,  alone 
remind  me  of  my  old  identity.  Adjoining  my  study  is  my 
sleeping  apartment,  and  the  spot  which  I  have  consecrated 
the  altar  of  my  devotions.  That  is  the  only  place  which  is 
truly  my  home ;  there  I  meet  Him  whom  my  soul  loveth,  who 
blesses,  reproves,  strengthens,  and  forgives." 

As  the  young  minister  more  fully  realized  his  responsibili- 
ties, and  became,  consequently,  deeply  interested  in  his  people, 
every  unpleasantness  connected  with  his  situation  was  merged 
into  the  magnitude  of  his  glorious  work.  His  sermons  were 
inspired  with  searching  power,  and  his  prayers  were  offered 
with  new  fervor. 

Every  preacher  has  some  key-note  to  his  religious  faith  and 
teachings ;  and  the  theme  of  Mr.  "Wellmont  was  oftenest  the 
love  of  God,  which  he  presented  in  all  the  beauty  and  distinct- 
ness of  his  own  love,  and  with  that  effective  application  which 
convicted  the  conscience  and  touched  the  heart.  Those  long 
hardened  by  worldly  cares,  and  those  devoted  to  the  gayety 
and  pleasure  of  youthful  life,  were  alike  attracted  to  listen, 
and,  before  they  had  noted  whither  their  interest  was  tending, 
their  hearts  were  softened  into  contrition  and  tears.  He 
preached  nothing  to  excite  mere  sensual  terror  and  dread,  but 
won  his  hearers  to  look  upward,  believe,  and  live. 

Meetings  were  held  in  the  evening,  to  which  the  young  and 


EDITH     HALE.  67 

the  old,  the  man  of  leisure  and  the  weary  laborer,  came  and 
gathered  manna  from  heaven ;  and  the  song  of  praise  and 
rejoicing  went  up  on  the  still  summer  air,  reminding  of  that 
strain  of  the  poetical  prophet :  "  Ye  shall  have  a  song,  as  in 
the  night  when  a  holy  solemnity  is  kept,  and  gladness  of  heart, 
as  when  one  goeth  with  a  pipe  to  come  into  the  mountain  of 
the  Lord."  Above  all  the  voices  could  be  heard  that  of 
Father  Shaw,  who  not  always  sung  correctly,  but  sung  from  a 
full  heart,  and  the  good  old  tunes  suffered  little  diminution 
of  pathos  or  power. 


CHAPTER   V. 

EDITH'S  FRIEND. 

IT  was  a  Saturday  evening  in  early  June  when  Edith 
returned  from  her  labor  before  the  usual  time,  as  was  the  cus- 
tom on  the  last  night  of  the  week,  and  with  a  heart  full  of 
hope  in  anticipation  of  the  coming  hours  of  blessed  rest. 
There  had  been  a  shower  that  afternoon,  and  the  earth  lay 
bathed  in  luxuriant  beauty,  which  made  it  peculiarly  grate- 
ful to  those  who  had  been  bound  to  the  monotony  of  toil 
during  the  long  days  of  the  week.  The  ground  was  flecked 
with  the  white  leaves  of  the  blooms  of  the  trees,  brought  down 
by  the  wind  like  a  light  sprinkle  of  snow-flakes ;  the  air  was 
full  of  the  melody  of  the  evening  birds,  and  all  «nature 
seemed  to  rejoice  in  the  renewal  of  freshness  and  strength. 

Maria  Weston  walked  beside  her,  with  that  listless,  dreamy 
air,  which,  of  late,  had  taken  the  place  of  her  old  light- 
heartedness  ;  and  when  Edith  reached  her  home  she  paused  a 
moment  and  said,  "  See  !  the  stars  are  just  coming  out. 
How  grand  is  the  idea  that  God  has  created  so  many  systems, 
and  preserves  all  their  revolutions  in  perfect  harmony  !  " 

"  Yes  !  "  replied  Maria,  yet  without  looking  upward ;  "  and 


EDITH     HALE.  69 

I  think  their  Creator  is  too  lofty,  and  has  too  many  worlds  to 
oversee,  to  mind  such  a  poor  creature  as  —  I  am." 

"  Not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground  without  his  notice  ; 
and  are  you  not  of  more  value  than  many  sparrows  ?  "  said 
Edith. 

"  I  know  it,"  pursued  Maria  ;  "  but,  since  I  have  begun  to 
think,  I  can't  ever  make  it  seem  that  God  cares  anything 
abotit  me.  Nor  can  I  tell  what  there  is  in  my  soul  that  seems 
like  a  light  struggling  up  through  the  gloom  for  something 
brighter  and  vnore  glorious  than  I  can  be ;  for  my  life  sweeps 
it  away  as  a  daup  wind  blows  out  a  lamp,  and  leaves  me  in 
greater  darko'j/s  than  before." 

"  Nothing  lull  keep  that  light  burning  so  steadily  as 
prayer,"  rep'ied  Edith. 

There  wa&  a  greater  yearning  for  a  brighter  life  in  the  heart 
of  Maria  than  Edith  imagined.  A  light,  indeed,  sometimes 
shone  in  her  soul  till  every  dark  corner  was  illumined  with  the 
brilliance  of  hope ;  as  we  read  that  the  fungus  rhizamorpha 
vegetates  in  dark  mines,  and,  lighting  up  the  roofs  and 
walls,  overcasts  those  places  with  the  appearance  of  an 
enchanted  castle.  Whether  this  light  should  be  found  trimmed 
and  burning  at  the  last,  or  smothered  hopelessly  out,  was  a 
problem  time  only  could  solve. 

As  Maria  walked  on  to  her  own  home,  Edith  stood  a 
moment  looking  after  her,  with  that  peculiar  impression  of 
calamity  which  one  sometimes  feels,  without  apparent  reason, 
in  connection  with  an  object  of  solicitude.  It  was  as  if  the 
angels  had  parted  the  curtains  of  the  mysterious  future  for 


70  EDITHHALE. 

an  instant,  through  which  she  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
successive  vistas  of  gloom,  with  pendent  stalactites  of  frozen 
tears. 

"  Your  friend,  Mary  Pickering,  has  been  here  this  after- 
noon," said  Mrs.  Hale,  on  the  appearance  of  Edith,  "  and 
wished  you  to  come  to  her  to-night.  I  have  to  call  upon  a 
sick  friend,  and  some  business  to  transact  in  the  village,  and 
shall  not  return  till  late  in  the  evening ;  so  I  engaged  that 
you  should  go." 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  her,  more  especially  that  she 
has  been  away  so  long,"  said  Edith. 

"  She  has  returned  much  improved,  so  that  I  hardly  recog- 
nized her,"  said  Mrs.  Hale  ;  "  but  you  will  soon  see  her  for 
yourself,"  she  added,  in  reply  to  Edith's  look  of  interroga- 
tion. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Edith  stood  at  the  door  of  Mr. 
Pickering,  awaiting  an  answer  to  her  summons.  Many 
times  had  she  stood  thus,  but  not  before  since  the  great 
changes  in  her  fortune ;  and,  as  she  heard  the  sound  of  the 
piano  within,  and  saw  the  light  stream  brilliantly  between 
the  crevices  of  the  heavy  damasks  and  laces  of  the  parlor- 
windows,  the  contrast  of  her  own  life  associations  fell  heavily 
upon  her  heart.  The  door  was  opened  by  the  housekeeper, 
—  a  correct  barometer  of  the  feelings  of  those  whom  she 
represented ;  who  met  her,  not  with  the  friendly  recognition 
of  old,  but  stood  irresolutely,  and  waited  as  for  the  delivery 
of  an  errand. 


EDITHUALE.  71 

"  Are  not  the  ladies  at  home  ?  "  inquired  Edith,  surprised 
at  the  singular  manner. 

"  Yes ;  but  they  are  very  much  engaged  this  evening." 

"  But  Mary  will  see  me ;  will  you  show  me  to  her  ?  " 

"  Wait,  and  I  will  inquire,"  replied  the  housekeeper,  turn- 
ing away.  But,  presently  returning,  she  said  that  the  girls 
were  all  engaged,  and  wished  to  be  excused.  A  heavy  blow 
could  not  have  struck  Edith's  sensitive  heart  more  forcibly. 
She  suddenly  divined  the  whole  truth ;  and,  as  she  heard 
the  door  shut  sharply  behind  her,  she  raised  her  hands  to  her 
face  to  repress  the  gushing  tears.  The  time  had  been  when 
Mrs.  Pickering  and  her  daughters  had  regarded  the  society 
of  her  parents  and  herself  as  an  honor  which  no  pains  were 
spared  to  retain. 

"  Edith  !  is  that  you,  darling  ?  "  now  spoke  a  voice  half- 
hushed  from  one  of  the  attic  windows.  Edith  turned,  while 
her  hand  was  upon  the  gate,  and  in  the  moonlight  perceived 
the  face  of  her  friend  Mary,  far  out  of  the  window,  and 
with  her  long  hair  sweeping  down  to  her  waist,  —  not  bright 
and  curling,  but  straight  and  dark,  and  suggestive  of  Night, 
"  the  genesis,"  as  the  Orphean  fragments  say,  "of  sorrow  and 
gloom." 

"  Do  come  in  at  once,"  said  Mary ;  "  I  never  was  more 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  must  not,"  replied  Edith. 

"  I  thought  you  had  come  on  purpose  to  stay  a  while 
with  me ;  and  I  was  feeling  so  lonely,  too  ! "  said  Mary, 
reproachfully. 


72  EDITH     DALE. 

"  I  did  come  to  see  you  ;  but  Gillis  told  me  you  were  all 
engaged,  and  I  would  rather  not  go  back  now." 

"  Well,  this  is  very  strange,"  replied  Mary  ;  "  but  just  wait 
a  minute,  and  I  '11  join  you,  presently." 

Edith  and  Mary  were  friends  of  a  long  standing,  and  had 
always  been  on  such  excellent  terms  as  to  share  each  other's 
joys  and  sorrows  with  more  than  the  love  and  sympathy  of 
many  sisters.  Mary  had  been  absent  on  a  long  visit  at  her 
grandfather's,  and  their  intercourse  had,  therefore,  been  inter- 
rupted ;  only  brief  notes,  expressing  their  mutual  friendship, 
had  of  late  passed  between  them.  In  the  mean  time,  Mrs. 
Pickering  and  her  daughters  had  passed  Edith  everywhere, 
without  manifesting  any  consciousness  of  her  presence.  She 
had  thought  their  changed  manner  was  attributable  to  mistake 
or  accident ;  for  she  did  not  fully  realize  that  a  large  number 
of  people  are  so  weak-minded  as  to  estimate  others  and  grade 
their  notice  of  them  by  factitious  circumstances. 

The  two  friends  met  with  kisses  and  ardent  protestations  of 
affection. 

"  It  is  so  pleasant  to  see  you  once  more,"  said  Mary, 
drawing  Edith's  hand  within  her  arm ;  "  and  I  have  so  much 
to  tell  you  of  what  has  happened  in  my  visit,  for  the  best 
things  I  saved  from  my  letters  to  tell  you." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  happy,  dear  Mary,"  said  Edith, 
repressing  a  sigh. 

"  I  have  almost  always  been  so  sad  ;  and  I  am  now,  when 
I  think  of  you.  But  I  know,  Edith  dear,  something  must 
come  up  soon  in  your  favor." 


EDITH    HALE.  73 

Edith  shook  her  head  sorrowfully. 

"  I  think  so,"  continued  Mary,  "  because  I  am  so  much 
happier  myself  than  what  I  was.  You  know  how  much  I  have 
suffered,  all  my  life ;  how  the  girls  have  always  despised  me, 
and  said  I  ought  never  to  show  myself  to  anybody,  I  was  so 
foolish  and  plain-looking ;  and  how  I  have  been  so  miserable 
sometimes,  had  it  not  been  for  you,  I  should  have  preferred  to 
walk  down  into  the  river,  and  bury  myself  from  misery !  " 

"  0,  not  that !  "  exclaimed  Edith.  "  It  is  very  painful 
to  hear  you  talk  thus,  dear  Mary ;  tell  me  something  of 
your  visit." 

"  Well,  I  went  up  to  grandfather's  because  ma  was  expect- 
ing company  from  the  city,  and,  as  she  was  very  anxious 
to  have  everything  appear  in  the  best  manner,  she  thought  I 
had  better  be  away ;  and,  having  scarcely  left  home  before,  I 
was,  as  you  know,  not  sorry  to  leave.  The  visitors  were  to  be 
a  Mr.  Raymond,  an  aged  man,  of  great  importance  in  the 
commercial  circles  of  Boston,  and  his  son.  Mr.  Raymond 
had  transacted  business  with  grandfather  and  father  for  many 
years,  arid  owns  estates  of  which  they  are  in  charge  ;  but  he 
had  never  been  to  AVaterbury  before.  In  prospect  of  his 
death,  he  wished  to  induct  his  son  more  thoroughly  into  his 
affairs,  so  that  he  might  hereafter  assume  his  business  position. 
The  girls  were  very  much  elated  at  the  prospect  of  such  a 
guest  as  the  young  man ;  for  he  is  known  to  be  heir  pros- 
pective to  immense  wealth,  and  is  much  esteemed  in  the 
most  select  societies  of  the  city.  But,  as  it  happened,  the  old 
gentleman  thought  best  to  send  his  son  to  grandfather's,  in- 
7 


74  EDITH     IIALE. 

stead  of  taking  him  to  Waterbury  ;  for  he  found  his  health 
inadequate  to  going  that  distance  himself.  So  the  elder  Mr. 
Raymond  only  came  here,  very  much  to  the  disappointment 
of  our  family ;  and,  after  remaining  a  day  or  two,  returned." 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith,  "  it  was  the  same  gentleman,  I  think, 
who  called  upon  us  with  your  father.  He  made  very  partic- 
ular inquiries  about  us,  and  asked  to  see  father's  picture ; 
accounting  for  his  interest  by  the  fact  of  having  known  his 
parents  many  years  ago.  We  thought  it  rather  singular  he 
should  notice  us  so  much,  for  he  waited  till  I  returned  from 
the  factory  to  see  if  I  resembled  my  father,  he  said.  And, 
•when  he  went  away,  he  looked  quite  saddened." 

"  His  friends  are  almost  all  dead,"  said  Mary ;  "  and  his 
son  told  me  his  father  was  often  low-spirited,  and  was  a  sin- 
gular man  about  dwelling  upon  the  past.  He  said  he  was 
sometimes  so  hypochondriacal  he  would  not  get  any  sleep  for 
many  successive  nights." 

"  Then  you  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  son,"  said 
Edith. 

"  0,  yes,  indeed;  and  that  is  the  cream  of  what  I  shall  tell 
you  by  and  by.  I  went  up  to  grandfather's,  expecting  to  be 
miserable  all  the  while  ;  for  I  did  n't  suppose  they  would  like 
to  have  me  there  more  than  they  do  at  home.  But  they  were 
so  glad  to  see  me,  and  talked  to  me  so  lovingly,  I  cried  out 
the  very  first  thing.  Then  they  were  distressed  to  see  me  feel 
so  badly  for  no  apparent  reason,  and  charged  me  with  home- 
sickness. I  assured  them  of  my  content,  and  presently  got 
cheerful  again ;  it  seemed  so  good  to  have  them  care  for  me, 


EDITH     DALE.  75 

and  call  me  their  darling  Mary !  They  live  in  a  grand  old 
house,  with  such  a  parcel  of  queer  furniture  and  antique  curi- 
osities, I  had  no  lack  of  entertainment. 

"  During  my  visit  I  was  invited  to  go  out  often,"  continued 
Mary ;  "  and,  at  first,  I  refused ;  for,  to  confess  the  truth, 
dear  Edith,  I  was  provided  with  such  a  scanty  and  poor 
wardrobe,  I  was  ashamed  to  appear  before  strangers.  As  you 
know,  I  am  never  allowed  to  dress  nearly  as  well  as  my  sis- 
ters ;  I  either  wear  their  cast-off  clothes,  or  the  cheapest  new 
ones  ;  and  ma  said  I  did  not  require  anything  more  to  go  away 
with,  they  were  such  a  quiet,  plain  sort  of  people  thereabouts. 
I  soon  found  it  was  very  different.  Then,  too,  there  was  Mr. 
Horace  Raymond,  who  came  there  on  the  day  after  I  did, 
and  quite  unaccountably  prolonged  his  visit  much  later  than 
he  at  first  gave  out,  and  in  fact  until  he  was  summoned  home 
by  his  father.  When  I  had  refused  several  times  to  accept 
his  invitations,  grandma  took  me  to  task  to  know  the  reason. 
I  did  n't  like  to  tell,  for  fear  she  would  blame  my  mother ; 
but  when  I  was  compelled  to  excuse  myself  on  account  of  my 
lack  of  dress,  grandma  nodded  her  head  several  times  in  her 
peculiar  way  that  she  has  when  she  gets  resolute ;  and  that 
very  afternoon  she  took  me  with  her  to  a  large  town  adjoin- 
ing, and  selected  with  me  a  pretty  spring  silk  and  a  cashmere, 
which,  by  her  skilful  planning,  were  soon  after  ready  for  wear." 

"  And  so  after  that  you  went  with  Mr.  Raymond  whenever 
he  asked  ?  "  said  Edith,  smiling. 

"  Not  quite  that ;  but  when  I  did  go  I  was  not  so  much 
mortified  that  I  could  not  speak  or  act  myself  at  all.  I  had 


76  EDIT  II     HALE. 

scarcely  bestowed  a  thought  upon  my  dress  before  ;  yet,  when 
I  found  myself  received  by  people  with  kindness  and  atten- 
tion, I  wished  to  look  as  pleasing  to  them  as  I  could.  And, 
Edith,  I  never  once  felt  like  going  by  myself  to  cry  for 
ill-words,  or  like  taking  down  my  hair  for  the  dreadful  head- 
ache !  " 

"  I  thought  I  saw  your  hair  down  to-night,"  said  Edith ; 
"  not  sad  again  so  soon,  dear  Mary  ?  " 

"  Not  very.  But,  when  I  am  at  home  alone,  and  I  hear  the 
music  below  stairs,  and  the  girls  singing  or  chatting  with  their 
company,  it  is  such  an  old  habit  of  mine  to  unbind  my  hair 
that  I  may  think  and  cry  easier,  it  is  difficult  to  put  it  off 
at  once.  But  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  feel  so  miserable 
again." 

They  had  walked  on  through  the  village,  scarcely  conscious 
of  their  way,  when  they  found  themselves  opposite  a  short 
lane,  which  led  down  to  a  small  house  with  which  both  were 
quite  familiar. 

"  Here  we  are  almost  at  Mr.  Linn's ! "  exclaimed  Mary. 
"  Let  us  go  in  for  a  few  minutes,  as  it  is  not  late.  I  shall  be 
especially  glad  to  see  them  after  my  long  absence." 

"  You  must  not  forget  to  tell  me  more  of  Mr.  Raymond  at 
another  time,"  replied  Edith. 

"  Well,"  said  Mary,  laughing,  though  a  little  confused, 
"  but  I  am  anxious  to  see  our  new  minister,  from  what  you 
wrote  me  of  him.  Do  you  continue  to  like  him  ?  " 

"  Very  much,"  said  Edith ;  "  he  seems  unusually  kind,  and 


EDITH     HALE.  77 

has  already  called  upon  us  several  times."  But  her  voice  was 
not  now  so  steady  as  usual. 

"  How  peaceful  looks  the  old  house,  to-night ! "  said  Mary. 
"  I  always  think  especial  good  angels  guard  the  home  of  Mr. 
Linn." 

Mr.  Linn  was  an  aged  minister,  who,  after  preaching  for 
more  than  two-score  years,  was  stricken  with  a  paralytic  affec- 
tion, and  from  that  time  had  been  unable  to  move  without 
assistance.  He  had  no  children,  and,  owing  to  working  in 
various  places  under  the  unjust  system  of  meagre  salaries  for 
untiring  labors  of  love,  had  not  been  able  to  accumulate  any 
property.  But  his  wife  had  a  small  annuity  now  in  her  own 
right,  which,  with  the  gift  of  the  use  of  a  cottage  by  Mr. 
Parker,  a  prominent  business  man  of  Waterbury,  and  occa- 
sional assistance  from  other  benevolent  persons,  afforded  them 
a  comfortable  provision. 

Having  knocked  for  admission,  the  door  was  opened,  after 
considerable  delay,  by  old  Mrs.  Linn,  who  only  ventured  to 
look  between  the  opening,  as  in  the  imperfect  light  she  had  no 
idea  of  the  identity  of  her  visitors. 

"  Don't  you  know  us,  grandma  ?  "  asked  Edith.  The  old 
lady  now  threw  wide  the  door,  and,  extending  both  hands, 
exclaimed, 

"  If  this  is  n't  Elith  !  and  Mary,  too,  I  believe  !  " 

"  Yes,"  whisperel  Mary,  "  it 's  me." 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  continued  Mrs.  Linn,  preceding 
them  within  her  sitting-room.  "  Father,  here  are  two  young 
friends  called  to  see  us  once  more,"  she  said,  laying  her  hand 
7* 


78  EDITH     HALE. 

upon  the  old  gentleman's  shoulder,  who  sat  with  his  back 
toward  the  door,  reading  from  a  large  book,  by  the  light- 
stand  beside  him.  Bat,  elevating  his  spectacles,  he  looked  up, 
and,  seeing  the  two  girls  before  him,  smiled,  and  said,  most 
heartily,  "  God  bless  you,  my  dear  children!  I  thought  you 
had  forgotten  me." 

"  No,  indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Mary  ;  "  that  would  be  the  last 
thing  we  could  do,  Mr.  Linn  ;  I  have  been  away  from  home 
for  some  time." 

"  And  I  have  been  away  from  myself,"  said  Edith,  sadly. 

"  Dear  child  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Linn,  "  we  have  often  had 
you  in  our  hearts,  of  late." 

"  And  it  is  so  pleasant  to  see  you  both  once  more  !  I  don't 
know  what  we  should  do,  if  it  were  not  for  seeing  the  faces  of 
our  friends  once  in  a  while,"  said  Mrs.  Linn,  now  emerging 
from  the  bedroom,  with  a  clean  apron,  which  she  was  tying 
round  her  wai*t. 

"  And  how  do  you  find  your  health  now,  sir  ?  "  inquired 
Edith  of  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Not  much  changed ;  only  my  pain  has  rather  increased 
of  late,  owing  to  the  damp  weather,  I  think." 

"  I  am  so  sorry ! "  exclaimed  Mary. 

"  No ;  it 's  all  right.  I  have  just  been  reading  in  that 
blessed  book,"  laying  his  shrunken  hand  upon  the  Bible,  "  'As 
many  as  I  love,  I  rebuke  and  chasten.'  These  afflictions  are 
good  for  me,  children.  They  make  me  feel  humble  before 
God,  and  bring  me  very  often  to  him  in  supplication.  If  I 
had  the  use  of  my  limbs,  and  were  as  well  as  others  are,  I 


EDITUHALE.  79 

might  get  to  living  in  my  own  strength ;  and  so,  by  my 
rebellion,  grieve  my  blessed  Lord  and  Master." 

"  Not  with  your  goodness,  Mr.  Linn,"  observed  Edith. 

"  Little  do  you  know  how  my  proud  heart  once  was  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  old  man.  "  As  I  sit  here,  day  after  day,  and 
year  after  year,  I  often  think  how  much  I  used  to  believe  I 
could  do.  I  would  tell  of  laboring  for  the  Lord ;  of  doing 
this  and  that  for  the  glory  of  Christ.  But,  as  soon  as  he  put 
forth  his  hand  and  touched  me,  I  could  neither  work  for 
myself  nor  others.  Who  may  stand  before  the  mighty  power 
of  God !  Who  may  add  one  beam  to  the  glory  that  filleth 
the  universe  ! " 

The  girls  looked  upon  the  old  man  with  admiring  awe ;  for 
he  spoke  upon  his  favorite  theme.  His  countenance  was 
radiant  with  the  inward  light  of  his  soul,  and  he  seemed 
transfigured  to  an  angel. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

MAJOR   OLIA'ER. 

MR.  WELLMOXT  had  acquired  a  habit  of  calling  upon 
Father  Shaw  early,  on  almost  every  week,  as  the  old  man  made 
no  scruples  of  telling  him  unreservedly  what  he  thought  of 
his  sermons  on  the  preceding  Sabbath.  Every  public  man 
likes  to  know  the  impression  which  he  makes  upon  the  minds 
of  men,  and  sensible  people  regard  it  a  privilege  to  be  told 
with  candor  what  judicious  observers  think  of  their  efforts. 
Isolated  and  unguarded  indeed  is  that  minister  who  has  no 
wife  to  criticize  his  words  and  deeds,  or  numbers  no  family 
friend  among  his  parishioners.  The  wives  of  some  men  think 
all  their  husbands  say  is  beautiful ;  and  a  critique  sound  and 
sensible  would  be  to  them  as  a  "  lamp  despised  in  the  thought 
of  him  that  is  at  ease."  Other  wives  never  hear  anything  so 
satisfactory  from  their  husbands  as  from  others,  and  delight 
in  nothing  so  much  as  a  continuous  strain  of  accusation. 
Father  Shaw  was  the  only  one  on  whom  Mr.  Wellmont  de- 
pended for  a  knowledge  of  his  labors ;  and  faithful  was  he  to 
this  dependence,  which  was  never  confessed,  but  tacit  and 
implied. 


E  D  I  T  II      H  A  L  E  .  81 

On  a  Monday  morning,  not  long  after  his  ordination,  he 
dropped  in  upon  Father  Shaw,  as  usual,  being  on  his  way  to 
visit  a  parishioner  whom  he  had  missed  at  church,  and  who, 
he  was  informed,  was  ill.  The  place  of  his  destination  was 
about  three  miles  beyond  the  village,  and  he  had  started  to 
walk,  designing  to  make  several  calls  by  the  way.  But  Father 
Shaw  would  not  consent  to  his  walking  that  distance. 

"  You  shall  wait  till  I  tackle  my  Hagar  inter  the  chaise ; 
she 's  been  standin'  in  the  barn  doin'  nothin'  for  a  long  time. 
I  've  had  so  much  to  do  I  could  n't  use  her,  and  she  needs  to 
stretch  her  legs,"  he  said,  taking  his  hat,  and  hastening  to  the 
barn. 

During  his  absence  Miss  Leah  presented  herself,  and,  with 
her  accustomed  directness,  said : 

"  I  wish  to  inquire  of  you  about  the  state  of  feeling  in 
this  place.  I  noticed  some  of  the  young  people  were  not  so 
attentive  in  meeting  yesterday  as  they  should  be,  and  a  few 
of  their  parents  fail  to  set  a  proper  example  in  this  respect." 

Mr.  Wellmont  replied  complacently,  for  he  had  accustomed 
himself  to  her  peculiarities ;  but  he  was  not  unwilling  to 
leave,  as  he  saw  her  father  coming  round  with  the  horse  and 
chaise.  On  going  out,  Miss  Leah  followed,  with  one  or  two 
other  allusions  to  duty,  mentioning  several  families  on  his 
way  which  had  not  been  looked  after  for  some  time. 

"  There ! "  said  Father  Shaw,  handing  the  reins  to  Mr. 
Wellmont,  "  she  '11  take  you  over  as  slick  as  a  mill,  ef  you  only 
keep  the  right  side  on  her." 


82  EDITH     HALE. 

"  But  you  had  better  have  a  care,  for  she 's  rather  upish 
•when  she  has  n't  been  used  for  a  while,"  said  Miss  Leah. 

"  No,  you  need  n't,"  said  her  father ;  "  Ilagar  's  gentle  as  a 
cow,  ef  you  manage  her  right.  Some  like  my  Leah,  here; 
stiddy  and  tame  ef  you  keep  in  with  her,  but  rather  onsartin' 
ef  you  raise  her  dander  by  cuttin'  her  the  wrong  way." 

Miss  Leah  now  walked  directly  into  the  house,  closing  the 
door  sharply  behind  her,  and  Mr.  Wellmont  intimated  to 
Hagar  it  was  time  to  start.  No  sooner  did  she  feel  the  move- 
ment of  the  reins,  than  she  started  off  in  high  dudgeon,  as  if 
"  bound  to  have  a  time,"  tossing  her  head  to  snuff  the  wind, 
and  turning  it  to  the  right  and  left,  with  the  apparent  intent  of 
eying  out  every  foe  in  ambush  by  the  way.  She  was  a  white, 
delicate-looking  creature,  with  great  symmetry  of  limb,  a  mouth 
as  sensitive  as  a  feather,  an  arched  neck,  with  a  mane  flowing 
low  and  jauntily,  and,  altogether,  nervous  to  that  degree  the 
least  motion  or  sound  disturbed  her.  Mr.  Wellmont  was  not 
one  of  those  men  who  love  a  horse,  and  so  easily  acquire  the 
arts  and  graces  of  horsemanship.  It  was  all  he  wished  to  do 
to  hold  the  reins,  and  that  often  in  the  most  careless  manner. 
He  was  now,  however,  considerably  aroused,  perceiving  that 
the  creature  he  was  driving  required  close  attention  and 
skilful  management.  He  would  have  preferred  to  ride 
slowly,  in  order  to  inspect  the  country  by  the  way  ;  but  his 
wishes  were  evidently  of  not  the  least  consideration  with  the 
animal,  for  as  soon  as  he  slackened  the  reins  she  only  went 
the  faster,  and  when  he  held  stoutly  she  bore  upon  the  bit 
and  trotted  as  fast  as  she  could,  just  missing  a  gallop. 


EDITH     HALE.  83 

"  To  keep  the  right  side  of  her,  as  directed,"  he  mused, 
"  is  impossible,  for  I  can't  even  find  it  at  all,  much  less  keep 
it.  I  have  whipped  her  on  the  right  side,  the  left,  and  be- 
hind, but  it  all  makes  no  difference.  I  say,  as  Cuddie  said 
of  his  3Iause,  '  Stop  her  wha  can  !  '  " 

Scarcely  had  he  concluded  this  thought,  when  he  found  the 
chaise  had  suddenly  struck  against  the  underbrush  by  the 
wall,  and  Hagar  was  leering  and  curveting  about,  apparently 
uncertain  whether  to  go  on  or  to  turn  about. 

"  What  now  ?  "  he  exclaimed,  looking  about  on  the  opposite 

side,  and  seeing  nothing  unusual.  "Has  the no,  the 

angel  got  into  this  horse  ?  "  Perceiving  that  exclamations  were 
of  no  avail  in  the  case,  he  alighted,  and,  taking  Hagar  by  the 
head,  succeeded  in  leading  her  by.  A  new  difficulty  now 
arose  —  to  regain  his  seat  in  the  chaise,  for  she  was  bent 
upon  making  up  for  lost  time.  As  often  as  he  attempted  to 
mount,  he  was  forced  back  by  the  wheel ;  but,  keeping  the 

reins  stoutly  in  his  hand,  he  test  escaped  being  left  behind. 

^^ 

At  this  juncture  he  perceived  a  young  man  advancing  on  foot, 

and,  waiting  for  him  to  come  up  as  well  as  he  could,  obtained 
his  assistance,  so  that  he  was  able  to  proceed.  After  a  half- 
mile,  which  was  made  with  great  rapidity,  the  road  led  over 
the  brow  of  a  hill  of  some  length,  and  in  the  ascent  the 
creature  slackened  into  a  reasonable  speed.  But,  Mr.  Well- 
mont  happening  to  sneeze  pretty  loudly,  she  took  fright,  and 
started  off  again  down  the  hill  faster  than  ever.  Draw- 
ing the  reins  so  that  her  head  was  twisted  awry,  with  her 
tongue  protruding  over  the  bit,  and  bracing  his  boots  against 


84  EDITH     II  ALE. 

the  dashboard,  with  the  expression  of  his  countenance  in 
keeping,  the  aspect  of  his  situation  was  not  only  slightly 
ludicrous,  but  extremely  critical. 

Fortunately,  at  u  short  distance  ahead,  he  saw  a  house  at 
which  he  designed  to  stop;  and,  aiming  llagur  directly  into 
tlie  yard,  brought  her  up  at  last,  trembling  und  panting,  at  a 
post.  On  seeing  a  horse  driven  thus  furiously,  some  half  a 
dozen  heads  were  planted  before  the  windows,  and  the  children 
ran  out  in  the  greatest  bewilderment ;  but,  ascertaining  the 
fast  horseman  was  their  minister,  the  wonder  suddenly  sub- 
sided into  awe,  and  all  quickly  scampered  out  of  sight. 

Within  this  house  Mr.  Wellmont  met  some  persons  who  in- 
terested him,  so  that  he  prolonged  his  call  beyond  his  limit. 
He  was  just  rising  to  go,  when  he  saw  a  carriage  pass  the 
windows  which  greatly  resembled  that  in  which  he  rode. 
Going  quickly  out,  he  perceived  that  Hagar  had  gone ;  but, 
to  do  her  justice,  she  was  carrying  the  chaise  along  quite 
leisurely,  with  the  reins  hanging  loosely  on  either  side.  He 
now  started  off  to  overtake  her  by  surprise ;  and,  as  he  came 
carefully  up,  he  spoke  very  softly  and  confidently.  But  the 
creature  evidently  thought  he  was  driving  the  jest  too  far ; 
and  at  that  instant,  shaking  her  head  knowingly,  she  set  off 
again,  leaving  her  driver  far  behind.  Mr.  Wellmont  fol- 
lowed after,  and  what  might  be  his  precise  reflections  then 
and  thus,  is  yet  unrevealed.  Ministers  are  but  men,  and  may 
be  presumed  to  have  feelings,  as  well  as  others.  Perhaps  he 
prayed ;  if  so,  his  prayer  was  heard  j  for  he  had  not  pro- 
ceeded far  before  he  saw,  at  some  distance  ahead,  that  all  was 


EDITH     HALE.  85 

well ;  for  some  persons  had  run  out  from  a  shop  by  the  way, 
and  succeeded  in  mastering  her. 

"  Quite  providential,  this  escape,"  observed  Mr.  Wellmont, 
as  he  came  up,  to  the  man  who  held  his  horse. 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  't  is,"  replied  the  stranger.  "  I  had  such  a 
time  myself,  a  while  ago,  only  we  got  thrown  out ;  and,  what 
was  the  most  wonderful,  if  my  horse  had  run  two  rods  further, 
we  should  have  been  thrown  on  to  a  sharp  rock  —  I,  and  my 
wife,  and  baby ;  but,  most  providentially,  we  were  thrown 
right  down  into  the  soft  mud." 

Mr.  Wellmont  succeeded  in  reaching  Major  Oliver's 
place,  the  limit  of  his  ride,  without  further  trouble  of  con- 
sequence ;  and,  when  he  alighted  at  last,  he  felt  very  much  as 
Mahomet  may  be  supposed  to  have  felt  when  he  rode  on 
his  white  horse,  Alborak,  to  the  third  heaven  in  one  night. 

"  I  wish  they  had  asses,  instead  of  horses,  in  these  parts, 
as  they  had  in  Scripture  times^  for  Balaam  could  not  have 
been  half  so  much  disturbed,  wnen  his  ass  spoke,  as  I  have 
been  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont  to  himself,  as  he  was  hitch- 
ing Hagar  stoutly  to  a  post. 

The  place  at  which  he  stopped  was  the  residence  of  a  man 
of  middle  age  and  a  bachelor ;  one  of  whom  Byron  says, 

"  He  pays  no  rent,  and  has  best  right 

To  be  the  first  of  what  we  used  to  call 
'  Gentlemen  farmers.'  " 

The  situation  was  retired,  but  located  with  singular  beauty. 
Around,  at  a  short  distance,  were  brave  green  hills,  clothed 


86  EDITH     HALE. 

with  waving  grasses,  and  skirted  here  and  there  with  orchard- 
trees  in  full  bloom ;  while  on  one  side  was  a  range  of  lofty 
wood,  into  which  paths  were  broken  to  its  inner  recesses. 
Between  this  and  the  grounds  before  the  house  was  a  lux- 
uriant valley,  through  which  ran  a  winding  stream,  losing 
itself  to  the  sight  further  down  in  a  ravine  amid  the  clumps 
of  trees.  Bordering  this  valley  was  a  row  of  silver-leaf  trees, 
interspersed  with  evergreens.  At  the  southern  side  could  be 
seen  a  fine  prospect  of  the  buildings  of  a  neighboring  town. 
Before  the  house  were  hedges  of  unchecked  growth,  over- 
shadowed by  tall  lindens  and  sycamores.  On  every  side 
were  clusters  of  fruit-trees,  with  their  blushing  and  snowy 
blossoms,  giving  the  appearance  of  one  vast  garden  of 
flowers. 

The  exterior  of  the  house  impressed  Mr.  "Wellmont  as  a 
combination  of  oddity,  carelessness,  and  an  elegance  at  once 
massy  and  barbaresque.  It  was  extensive,  but,  apparently 
having  been  built  at  different  times,  presented  no  idea  of 
unity,  but  rather  seemed  a  mass  of  irregularities.  There  were 
gables,  coignes,  balconies,  porticoes,  stoops,  and  nooks,  of 
various  descriptions.  Portions  of  the  building  were  of  a  soft 
roseate  stone-color,  other  parts  of  a  deep  brown,  while  the 
window-sashes  were  black,  with  shutters  of  a  deep  green. 
Everything  about  the  premises  seemed  to  have  been  arranged 
with  an  eye  to  singular  contrasts. 

The  door  was  opened  to  Mr.  Wellmont  by  a  smart  Irish 
boy,  who,  with  an  indefinite  number  of  flourishes,  conducted 
the  visitor  to  a  receiving-room  upon  the  north,  which  was 


EDITIIIIALE.  87 

so  darkened  by  the  thick  foliage  of  the  trees  and  shrubs 
about  the  windows,  that  at  first  the  objects  within  were 
scarcely  definable.  Though  nearly  the  noon  of  the  day,  it 
seemed  a  deep,  perpetual  twilight.  While  the  servant  had 
gone  to  make  report  to  his  master,  Mr.  Wellmont  amused 
himself  by  glancing  about  him,  for  he  soon  discovered  the 
apartment  was  very  singular  in  its  arrangement.  In  the 
centre  of  the  room  was  an  octagonal  table,  with  curious 
legs,  of  a  fluted  pattern,  terminating  in  large  brass  claws, 
and  all  connected  by  pieces  of  wood  intertwisted  with  ser- 
pents' heads.  Upon  this  table  was  a  cigar-holder  of  faience, 
painted  with  designs  of  a  Swiss  dancing  scene.  There  were 
also,  lying  carelessly,  as  if  recently  used,  pipes  of  a  curious 
Turkish  pattern,  with  heavy  cords,  and  tassels  of  crimson  and 
gold  color.  On  two  sides  of  the  room  the  walls  were  covered 
with  book-cases,  crowded  with^j^umes,  pamphlets,  and  news- 
papers, arranged,  evidently,  without  regard  to  proportion 
or  order,  and  looking  here  and  there  as  if,  at  the  merest 
touch,  they  would  totter  to  the  floor.  Beneath  a  bay-win- 
dow with  heavy  mullions  was  a  rude  cage,  containing  gray 
squirrels,  looking  as  much  out  of  keeping  there,  with  the  gay 
tapestry  carpet  and  rose-colored  silken  curtains,  as  a  tuft  of 
coarsest  wood-moss  amid  the  choice  exotics  of  a  conservatory. 
Upon  the  wall  over  the  chimney-piece  was  a  picture  of  a  battle- 
scene,  and  under  this  Mr.  Wellmont  saw  upon  the  mantel 
a  mysterious-looking  box,  partly  of  glass  and  partly  of  wood, 
from  which  he  thought  he  heard  a  low,  singular  sound. 
Upon  approaching  it,  and  looking  more  attentively,  he  saw 


88  EDITH     HALE. 

nothing  within  the  glass  but  its  flooring  of  cotton,  and  some- 
thing which  resembled  a  frog's  leg.  Placing  his  hand  uncon- 
sciously against  the  box,  he  was  suddenly  startled  so  that  he 
sprang  backward  with  a  leap,  on  seeing  the  head  of  a  snake 
thrust  out  within  the  glass  from  an  aperture  in  the  wood.  The 
snake,  a  huge,  black  creature,  advanced  with  great  boldness 
and  complacency.  For  a  moment  the  minister  and  the  snake 
eyed  each  other  attentively,  when  the  latter  ran  out  his  red 
forked  tongue  rapidly  several  times,  and  then  withdrew  him- 
self from  sight  without  further  ceremony. 

At  this  juncture  the  boy  returned,  offering  to  show  Mr. 
Wellmont  to  the  major,  who  was  in  his  private  room.  Through 
various  windings  and  turnings  he  followed,  till  he  was  ushered 
into  a  large,  lofty  room,  into  which  the  full  noonday  sun  shone. 
The  major  sat  before  a  smouldering  fire,  in  his  ordinary 
dress-clothes  (though  a  morning-gown  hung  within  view),  with 
his  back  to  the  fire,  and  his  head  resting  upon  his  folded  arms 
upon  the  back  of  his  chair.  On  seeing  Mr.  Wellmont,  he 
arose,  and,  handing  him  his  own  chair,  which  proved  a  large 
fauteuil,  took  another,  and  now  sat  with  his  face  to  the  fire, 
and  with  his  limbs  extended  and  resting  on  the  shelf 
above. 

"  How  is  your  health  to-day,  sir  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Wellmont, 
more  definitely,  after  the  first  salutations. 

"Oil  'm  getting  along !  decidedly  mending !  No  notion 
of  putting  on  night-cap  and  gown  and  going  to  bed !  "  replied 
the  major,  negligently,  glancing  from  his  half-closed  eyes. 

"  Have  you  a  fever  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Wellmont. 


EDITH     HALE.  89 

"  A  fever !  by  no  means,  sir !  Do  you  think  I  should  ever 
have  a  fever  ?  "  But,  perceiving  that  Mr.  Wellmont  looked 
as  though  he  had  made  a  discovery  that  he  was  talking  with 
a  man  a  "  little  out,"  he  added,  emphatically,  "  There  are  no 
fevers  only  what  the  doctors  make." 

"  In  your  opinion,  sir !  "  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  smiling. 

"  In  my  opinion !  Yes ;  I  know  there  are  no  fevers  only 
what  are  brought  on  by  taking  medicines  !  " 

"But  do  you  take  no  medicines?"  inquired  Mr.  Well- 
mont. 

"  Never  !  I  would  as  soon  take  poison ;  I  mean  the  stuff 
the  doctors  give.  I  have  taken  enough  in  the  first  part  of  my 
life  for  all  the  rest.  I  tell  you,  sir,  the  doctors  are  a  cursed 
set  —  every  one  of  them  —  only,  perhaps,  the  surgeons  !  " 

"  You  have  no  opinion  of  consulting  physicians,  then,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Wellmont. 

The  major  now  stared  at  his  visitor  in  earnest,  rising  from 
his  chair  and  folding  his  arms  behind  him.  "  After  all,  you 
don't  know  me !  "  he  said,  as  if  musing  to  himself.  "  I  '11 
tell  you  about  it,"  he  added,  resuming  his  seat  again. 

"  When  I  was  about  sixteen,  I  was  ailing,  and  my  mother, 
being  a  famous  hand  for  doctors,  sent  for  them  far  and  near  — 
young  ones  and  old  ones,  hot  ones  and  cold  ones,  and  all  sorts. 
And  they  dosed  me,  those  infernal  doctors  did,  with  calomel, 
and  arsenic,  arid  lobelia,  and  the  Lord  only  knows  what  not. 
They  kept  on  and  on,  plastering,  blistering,  physicking,  vomit- 
ing, and  bleeding,  till  the  strangest  thing  was,  I  had  n't  died. 
But  I  had  a  strong  constitution,  —  the  Olivers  all  have 
8* 


90  EDIT  II     HALE. 

strong  constitutions,  —  so  I  merely  lived,  while,  all  the  time, 
not  one  of  their  poisons  came  near  hitting  my  complaint.  One 
night,  after  there  had  been  a  council  of  doctors  over  my  case, 
two  were  sitting  in  my  room  before  the  fire.  It  was  cold  and 
stormy  without ;  but  warm  with  oak-wood  coals,  and  plenty 
of  wines  and  brandy,  within ;  so  their  tongues  flowed  without 
reserve.  They  thought  I  was  too  insensible  to  hear  them,  I 
suppose ;  but  in  this  they  were  mistaken. 

"  The  stories  of  their  experience  they  told,  sir !  The 
accounts  of  the  experiments  they  made  upon  their  helpless 
victims !  More  shocking  than  all,  the  influence  which  they 
boasted  they  gradually  acquired  over  silly  women  by  their 
fiendish  arts !  My  (rod  !  it  made  my  blood  leap  in  my  veins 
to  hear  them.  It  made  it  leap  so  that  I  recovered,  from  that 
night,  without  any  more  of  their  attendance." 

"  There  are  notoriously  bad  men  in  every  profession,"  now 
interposed  Mr.  Wellmont ;  "  but  that  should  not  prevent  us 
from  forming  a  correct  judgment  of  the  majority." 

"  What  I  have  said,  I  have  said ! "  retorted  the  major. 
"  There  are,  doubtless,  well-disposed  doctors,  like  our  Dr. 
Humphrey,  but  they  are  fools  about  curing  people.  They  guess 
and  experiment ;  if  they  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  't  is  well ;  if 
not,  't  is  all  the  same." 

"  But  what  means  do  you  employ  in  sickness?  " 

"  I  am  seldom  sick,  although  I  was  injured  then  beyond 
repair.  When  I  am  attacked,  however,  I  abstain  from  eating 
a  mouthful  till  I  get  better ;  take  warm  baths,  perhaps ;  some 
harmless  physic  or  astringent,  as  the  case  may  require.  But 


E  D  I  T  H     II  A  L  E  .  91 

it  is  better  to  try,  if  possible,  and  live  so  as  to  prevent  sick- 
ness. I  never  eat  anything  but  meat,  vegetables,  fish,  and 
one  or  two  kinds  of  wholesome  fruit  preserved  ;  it 's  these  fancy 
breadstuffs  and  pastries  that  ruin  people's  health,  assisted  by 
imprudent  exposures." 

"  In  that  point,  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Mr.  "Wellmont ; 
"  but  you  cannot  fail  to  believe  that  remarkable  cures  have 
been  effected  by  physicians  ?  " 

"  Nonsense !  asking  your  pardon,  sir.  These  famous  drugs, 
which  are  pretended  to  bring  about  such  great  cures,  are  about 
as  potent  as  those  which  the  French  swallowed  in  the  time  of 
an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  which  were 
vaunted  by  their  inventors  as  remedies  against  the  eclipse 
disease.  Why  don't  doctors  cure  themselves  and  their  fami- 
lies, if  they  can  cure  others  ?  I  have  known  some  of  them 
die  of  the  very  disease  they  pretended  to  cure.  Garrick  said 
a  good  thing,  when  speaking  of  Sir  John  Hill,  a  writer  of  the 
last  century,  an  apothecary,  and  a  great  inventor  of  quack 
medicines,  who  at  last  died  of  the  gout,  although  he  professed 
to  cure  that  disease.  He  said, 

'  For  physic  and  farces,  his  rival  there  scarce  is  ; 
His  farces  are  physic,  his  physic  a  farce  is.' 

"  We  may  better  do  as  the  barbarians,"  continued  the 
major,  "  who  wear  scrolls  containing  verses  from  the  Koran, 
as  a  charm  against  injury,  or  as  the  Romans  suspended  from 
the  necks  of  their  children  their  bulla,  to  avert  the  effects  of 
the  evil  eye,  than  to  dose  ourselves  with  these  poisonous 


92  EDITH     HALE. 

medicines.  Or  more  reasonably  may  we  derive  greater  profit 
from  careful  observation  of  nature,  as  the  Kamktschadales 
watch  the  bears  when  wounded,  to  sec  what  leaves  they 
gather  with  which  to  cure  the  wound,  and  what  method  they 
pursue  for  recovery  when  otherwise  diseased." 

"  But  the  study  of  medicine  is  a  science,"  observed  Mr. 
Wellmont,  "  which  holds  an  importance  equal,  and,  perhaps, 
superior,  to  other  sciences ;  it  does  not  admit  of  comparison 
with  the  practices  of  superstition,  or  animal  instinct." 

"  0,  yes !  I  have  read  bodks  upon  books  upon  the  science 
of  medicine;  upon  hygiene,  dietetics,  pathology,  nosology, 
semiotics,  diagnostics,  prognostics,  therapeutics,  pharmacy, 
clinics,  and  the  whole  jaw-breaking  set  of  mummery !  It  all 
amounts  to  tweedle-dum  and  tweedle-dee;  and  the  whole 
should  be  classed  under  one  .generic  term  of  toxicology,  which, 
as  you  know,  treats  entirely  of  poisoning.  Solomon  was  the 
wisest  man,  and  the  best  physician  who  ever  wrote  upon 
medicine.  He  said,  after  he  had  examined  all  the  lying 
vanities  of  earth  :  '  Then  I  commended  mirth,  because  a  man 
hath  no  better  thing  under  the  sun  than  to  eat,  and  to  drink, 
and  be  merry.'  Now,  that  was  the  most  sensible  prescription 
ever  written  for  the  benefit  of  man." 

"  It  hardly  reached  the  diseases  of  the  body,  however." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  it  did !  •  A  merry  heart  and  a  contented  mind, 
wholesome  eating  and  water  drinking,  assist  more  in  the 
making  of  a  healthy  body  than  anything  else.  And  I  've 
noticed  there  are  few  things  which  make  one  so  unhealthy  as 
hatred.  Those  persons  who  are  always  peaking  about  after 


EDITH     HALE.  93 

other's  faults,  and  who  try  to  take  such  care  of  the  whole 
world,  as  a  natural  result  neglect  themselves,  and  are  almost 
invariably  dyspeptic  and  jaundiced." 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  compelled  to  laugh,  despite  himself,  and 
the  major  continued,  in  another  strain  :  "  One  reason,  out  of 
several,  why  I  never  married,  was  the  fear  I  should  get  a 
woman  who  would  have  a  doctor's  horse  forever  hitched  at  my 
posts.  Such  women  are  plentiful,  you  know,  sir ;  and  they 
are  perfect  bugbears  to  me ;  these  delicate,  spleeny  creatures, 
who  love  their  dear  family  physician  infinitely  better  than 
their  husband,  and  would  be  mad  enough  to  pull  his  hair  if 
he  attempted  to  say  the  doctor  could  by  any  possibility  do 
wrong.  I  had  no  idea  of  leaving  offings  so  that  when  I  came 
home  and  went  to  my  room,  I  should  find  a  smooth-tongued, 
keen-eyed  fellow  holding  my  wife's  wrist  in  his  fingers,  and 
gazing  into  her  eyes  to  see  a  reflection  of  himself,  while  he 
impressed  that  same  image  on  her  heart ;  and,  then,  seeing  him 
poke  about  among  my  shelves,  and  knowing  altogether  more 
about  my  household  affairs  than  I  did  myself.  How  so  many 
men  submit  to  these  things,  I  can't  divine.  They  have  less 
spirit  than  I  have,  or  they  would  pitch  them  out  of  their  doors, 
heels  uppermost." 

"  As  is  usual  with  radical  people,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont, 
"  you  have  merely  represented  one  side  of  the  picture,  and 
that  in  some  of  its  darkest  lights.  If  you  had  ever  seen  a 
friend,  apparently  on  the  border  of  the  dark  valley,  providen- 
tially restored  to  health  by  the  skilful  treatment  of  a  physi- 
cian, you  could  not  find  heart  for  such  words  of  accusation 


94  EDITH     HALE. 

against  a  profession  generally  so  valuable  to  the  human  family. 
In  short,  sir,  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  are  a  bachelor." 

The  summons  for  dinner  was  now  heard,  and  the  conversa- 
tion upon  this  topic  was  dropped. 

The  major  conducted  Mr.  Wellmont  into  the  dining-room, 
which  was  a  small  room,  with  windows  at  one  side  opening 
into  a  conservatory,  filled  with  vines  and  plants,  some  of  which 
were  luxuriously  in  flower.  The  walls  were  covered  with 
plain  green  hangings,  bordered  deeply  with  daffodils  and  moss- 
roses.  Upon  the  floor  was  a  fine  rice-straw  matting,  covered 
at  the  centre  with  a  cloth  in  imitation  of  the  Japanese  car- 
pets, of  a  blackened  blood-color,  inwrought  with  silver  flowers. 
The  sideboard  was  adorned  with  calabash  dishes,  cut-glass, 
and  plate,  engraved  handsomely  and  highly  polished. 

When  dinner  was  concluded,  the  major  inquired  of  Mr. 
Wellmont  if  he  would  not  like  to  go  out  and  see  his  farm,  and 
what  he  had  got  upon  it. 

"  Very  much ;  but  you  are  ill  to-day,  and  —  :> 

"  I  am  well  enough  to  go  out  of  doors,  for  I  never  keep 
myself  from  the  open  air  when  I  can  help  it."  As  they  went 
to  the  hat-tree  for  their  hats,  the  major  said,  as  he  tried  Mr. 
Wellmont's  hat  (an  invariable  custom  of  his  with  his  gentle- 
man visitors,  having  a  very  large  head  himself),  "  I  should 
like  to  go  hatless  always,  if  fashion  would  by  any  means  pro- 
tect me  from  ridicule." 

"  You  may  remember,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  that  the 
Emperor  Hadrian  always  walked  without  a  hat,  in  all  seasons 
of  the  year." 


JEDITUUALE.  95 

"  I  hope  he  was  not  bald,"  replied  the  major. 

"  I  presume  not,  from  the  fact  of  his  going  with  uncov- 
ered head ;  for  baldness  was  very  mortifying  to  a  Roman." 

"  You  see  my  evergreen  hedges,"  remarked  the  major,  on 
going  down  his  yard  ;  "  they  are  scarcely  trimmed  at  all.  I 
like  to  see  everything  growing  in  its  natural  luxuriousness." 
As  they  passed  the  hedge,  several  fowls  walked  leisurely  away 
from  under  the  branches  and  followed  the  major  toward  the 
granary,  their  numbers  increasing  at  every  step,  till  a  whole 
troop,  of  almost  every  variety,  had  gathered  closely  about 
him,  expecting  plentiful  rations  at  the  earliest  opportunity. 
The  major  stopped,  and  laughingly  said  to  Mr.  Wellmont,  who 
was  looking  on  with  intereg|^"  These  are  my  companions ; 
they  all  take  me  to  be  one  of  themselves." 

Having  scattered  grain  bountifully,  he  caught  a  fair-sized 
chicken  and  perched  it  upon  his  shoulder,  suffering  it  to  eat 
kernels  from  his  mouth  and  hands. 

The  lambs,  pigs,  and  calves,  were  exhibited  in  order,  all  of 
which  the  major  evidently  regarded  with  great  pride  and  affec- 
tion. They  were  made  to  display  several  feats  in  proof  of 
their  docility  and  intelligence. 

"  I  have  a  kind  of  millennium  on  my  place,"  said  he ;  "  my 
creatures  all  love  each  other,  and,  if  I  get  a  new  one,  I  soon 
teach  it  to  act  in  harmony  with  the  rest.  I  never  strike  them, 
or  suffer  my  help  to  do  so  ;  but  I  make  them  understand  that 
I  love  them,  and  they  thrive  and  fatten  upon  this  treat- 
ment." 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  next  shown  the  orchards,  and  made  to 


96  EDITH     HALE. 

listen  to  voluminous  explanations  of  the  kinds  of  fruit-bearers, 
the  manner  and  season  of  engrafting,  and  a  variety  of  other 
kindred  matters. 

"  Just  yonder,"  said  the  major,  pointing  to  an  enclosure 
beyond  his  garden,  "is  the  burial-place  of  my  family. 
Around  that  monument  sleep  my  father  and  his  fathers 
before  him,  my  mother,  and  all  her  children  except  myself." 

"  And  have  you  no  relatives  living,  then,  to  inherit  your 
estate  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  One  only  —  a  nephew  ;  but  I  have  not  decided  about  his 
being  my  heir." 

"  I  trust  he  is  not  unworthy ;  but  pardon  the  freedom  of 
my  remark,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  who  had  conceived  an  un- 
usual interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  eccentric  major. 

"  No,  he  is  not  unworthy,  I  think,"  said  the  major  ;  "  but 
I  shall  wait  to  prove  him  well  before  I  decide.  It  is  a 
principle  of  mine  to  leave  a  young  man  to  depend  upon 
himself,  and  try  him  thoroughly  with  the  world.  My  nephew 
was  a  poor  boy,  —  apprenticed  out,  —  never  went  to  college ; 
but  he  has  got  to  be  a  famous  lawyer  and  politician." 

"  You  surely  do  not  refer  to  the  distinguished  Hugh  Oliver  ?  " 
said  Mr.  "Wellmont. 

"  The  same,"  replied  the  major,  with  evident  pride.  "  I 
have  never  helped  him  much,  but  I  have  watched  him  ;  and, 
if  he  comes  out  right  at  last,  he  will  yet  get  paid  for  making 
an  effort." 

"  He  already  honors  you  much,  and  I  predict  he  will 
yet  attain  to  some  of  the  highest  honors  in  the  gift  of  his 


EDITHKALE.  97 

country ;  for  he  is  not  a  demagogue,  but  a  sound,  able,  con- 
scientious advocate  of  what  he  deems  right  principles,  —  at 
least,  I  infer  this  from  his  public  acts  and  his  speeches,"  said 
Mr.  "Wellmont. 

Much  more  did  they  converse  in  this  manner,  when,  after 
concluding  their  inspection  of  the  grounds,  they  returned  to 
the  house.  On  entering  the  library,  the  major  said  :  "  I  have 
one  book  which  I  esteem  more  highly  than  any  other  except 
the  Bible.  I  wish  you  to  examine  it." 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  puzzling  himself  whether  a  book  with 
such  a  distinction  would  be  the  works  of  Seneca,  Confucius,  or 
"  The  Saint's  Rest,"  when  the  major  announced,  with  sober, 
earnest  admiration,  "  The  ^listory  of  Waterbury."  Sup- 
pressing a  smile,  he  took  the  proffered  book  for  examination, 
and  began  turning  the  leaves,  where  his  eyes  fell  upon  the 
generations  of  Joneses,  Howes,  Greens,  etc.,  and  a  few  remarks 
at  the  close  containing  local  anecdotes,  such  as  of  the  first 
inhabitant  who  was  struck  by  lightning,  and  of  a  boy  who  ran 
away  from  the  Indians  and  fell  into  a  well. 

"  I  love  to  read  when  all  these  people,  whom  I  have  so 
long  known,  were  married  and  born ;  and  of  the  dead,"  said 
the  major,  as  he  wag  turning  to  his  own  family  record.  "  You 
see  my  family  are  very  ancient,"  he  continued ;  "  my  first 
ancestors  came  to  England  with  William  the  Conqueror.  I 
like  the  idea  of  ancient  descent,  and  I  think  the  Olivers  are 
traced  back  very  clearly." 

"  In  this  respect,"  observed  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  you  resem- 
9 


98  EDITH     HALE. 

ble  the  Poles,  who  carry  back  their  pedigree  to  a  grandson 
of  Xoah." 

"  My  ancestors  were  a  very  celebrated  people,"  pursued 
the  major,  "  and  I  have  many  relics  of  their  greatness." 
He  now  went  to  a  cabinet,  and,  unlocking  the  doors,  took 
out  several  mysterious-looking  boxes,  which  he  also  un- 
locked. 

"  There  is  a  tooth  which  my  great-grandfather  had  drawn 
from  his  head,  —  a  head  that  held  more  wisdom  than  a  pha- 
lanx of  ordinary  men ;  he  was  a  great  man  in  the  province 
under  the  king.  Singular,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  It  is,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont. ' 

"  The  fact  is,  it 's  a  monstrous  tooth  !  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  one  like  it  ?  " 

"  I  have  read,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  in  the  grave  of  the 
giant  of  Bashan  was  found  a  tooth  that  weighed  four  and  a 
half  pounds." 

The  major  was  a  little  nonplussed  at  this.  "  But  that 
was  in  the  days  of  the  antediluvians,"  he  said,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation. 

"  And  when  the  Portuguese  plundered  Ceylon,"  continued 
Mr.  "Wellmont,  "  in  a  temple  of  magnificent  structure  they 
found  a  singular  tooth,  enclosed  in  a  casket  of  pure  gold,  for 
the  redemption  of  which  the  natives  offered  seven  hundred 
ducats." 

"No  money  would  tempt  me  to  part  with  this,"  re- 
marked the  major,  as  he  returned  it  carefully  to  its  place. 

"  There  are  some  spoons  on  which  are  the  coat  of  arms  of 


EDITH     HALE.  99 

the  family.  They  belonged  to  my  grandfather,  who  was  a 
member  of  Congress,  and  a  great  patriot ;  and  here,"  said  the 
major,  throwing  open  the  doors  of  an  inner  glass  case  with  a 
great  flourish,  "  is  a  tea-set,  for  which  my  grandfather  sent  to 
China,  and  had  them  made  after  his  own  design,  with  the 
initials  of  himself  and  wife." 

"  A  classical  idea,  indeed  !  "  said  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  It  is  an  illustrious  idea  !  "  exclaimed  the  major.  "  I  don't 
know  about  its  being  classical." 

A  pride  of  ancestry  was  evidently  the  major's  weak  point, 
and  Mr.  Wellmont  knew  well  how  to  humor  it. 

"  I  should  have  been  a  great  man,  myself,  perhaps,"  said  the 
major,  as  he  turned  away 'item  these  ancestral  relics,  "  only  it 
was  too  much  work  when  I  was  young.  I  had  rather  stay  at 
home,  master  my  creatures,  tame  foxes,  weasels,  and  the 
like,  and  think  philosophy,  than  go  to  college  and  strive 
among  all  sorts  of  men  for  a  place  in  the  world.  All  this 
feverish  ambition  to  do  something  wonderful  is  sheer  folly. 
The  best  way  to  live,  as  I  have  already  said,  is  to  take  one's 
comfort  by  the  easiest  possible  method  which  is  honest. 

"  You  remind  me  of  the  words  of  the  inscription  upon  the 
statue  of  Sardanapulus,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  who,  by  ..the 
by,  seemed  even  more  than  usually  possessed  with  his  natural 
spirit  of  making  learned  allusions  on  this  occasion.  "  The 
hands  of  the  statue,  were  crossed,  as  in  the  act  of  clapping.  It 
is  this  :  '  Sardanapalus,  son  of  Anacyndaraxes,  built  Archialus 
and  Tarsus  in  one  day.  But  do  you,  0  stranger,  eat,  drink, 


100  EDITH     11ALE. 

and  be  merry,  as  all  other  human  pursuits  are  not  worth  this ! ' 
alluding  to  the  clapping  of  the  hands." 

"  That  is  it !  "  returned  the  major,  with  animation.  "  So 
doiiitf,  my  life  has  passed  happier  than  any  king's.  I  don't 
think  a  man  lives  who  enjoys  himself  better  than  I  do." 

"  I  should  not  suppose  you  would  enjoy  such  a  household 
companion-*  as  that  I  saw  upon  the  chimney-piece  in  your 
receiving-room,"  rejoined  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  0,  that  snake !  Yes  ;  I  like  him  vastly.  I  call  him  Sati, 
and  I  believe  the  devil  knows  his  own  name.  You  know  I 
have  an  undoubted  right  to  call  him  '  devil ; '  for  the  first  one 
of  which  we  have  account  was  a  snake." 

"  Sati  in  the  Sanscrit  means  pure,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont. 
"  I  hope  you  do  not  trust  so  much  to  his  purity  as  to  ever 
permit  him  to  leave  his  cage  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  let  him  out  often  ;  and  he  goes  about  the  room, 
poking  his  head  into  every  crevice  and  cranny,  and,  some- 
times, into  the  tops  of  my  boots." 

"  Ugh  !  "  shuddered  Mr.  Wellmont.  "  You  are  almost  as 
bad  as  the  people  of  Wydah,  who  worship  snakes  and  have 
them  all  about  their  apartments.  To  have  such  a  hideous 
thing  as  that  about  me  !  Ugh  !  he  ran  out  his  tongue  several 
times  at  me  when  I  was  in  there." 

"  Snakes  never  like  ministers ;  he  knew  the  difference 
between  you  and  me,"  said  the  major,  now  thoroughly  filled 
with  laughter.  Mr.  Wellmont  was  confounded  with  the  con- 
tagious merriment  of  the  strange  man  before  him. 

"0  dear!"  said  the  major,  subsiding  a  little;  "this  is 


EDITH     HALE.  101 

sanitary.  It  exceeds  being  packed  in  wet  blankets.  I  am  well 
henceforth." 

Many  more  curious  things  did  the  major  display  to  his 
guest,  and  could  have  fully  engrossed  his  interest  had  he 
remained  till  night;  but,  recollecting  an  engagement  at  an 
evening  meeting,  Mr.  Wellmont  took  his  departure  at  an 
early  hour. 

The  capricious  Hagar  started  decently  on  her  way  home- 
ward, so  that  Mr.  Wellmont  was  allowed  a  little  time  for 
reflection.  "  Just  the  place,  that  of  the  major's,"  he  mused, 
"  I  would  like  for  my  own.  It  would  be  almost  a  paradise  to 
me.  As  he  has  so  few  heirs,  if  I  manage  well,  he  may  remem- 
ber me  in  his  will."  Then  he  fell  to  pondering  on  what  he 
should  say  that  evening  at  the  meeting  ;  and  he  wondered'  if 
he  should  see  a  certain  interesting  face,  in  a  mourning  bonnet, 
among  those  who  would  attend.  Just  then,  as  he  was  pass- 
ing the  lane  which  led  from  Mr.  Linn's,  he  saw  a  young  lady 
coming  up,  whom  he  recognized  as  Edith  Hale. 

He  slackened  the  horse,  and  invited  her  to  ride  home. 
She  blushed,  hesitated,  and  declined.  But  Mr.  Wellmont 
would  not  receive  her  excuses  ;  he  alighted,  —  not  without  con- 
siderable difficulty,  for  the  horse  was  very  impatient  at  the 
interruption,  —  and  assisted  her  to  the  seat,  and,  by  unusual 
agility,  was  able  to  resume  his  own  place.  There  was  some- 
thing very  exhilarating  in  his  situation,  and  Mr.  Wellmont 
became  conversational  at  once.  As  he  gazed  down  and  saw 
her  sweet  face  roseate  with  blushes,  her  large,  dark  eyes  so 
sad  in  their  expression,  yet  animated  with  high  resolve  and 
9* 


102  EDITH     HALE. 

intelligence,  and  heard  her  musical  voice,  suggestive  of 
a  heart  full  of  beautiful  emotions,  he  thought,  "  I  regret 
that  she  is  in  such  poverty;  for  she  is  certainly  the  most 
charming  young  lady  I  ever  met,  and  seems  perfectly  well- 
bred." 

He  inquired  for  her  mother.  "  My  mother's  health  is  fail- 
ing very  rapidly,  I  fear,"  she  replied,  in  tremulous  tones ; 
"  her  misfortunes  affect  her  seriously,  and  I  dare  not  think 
what  may  be  the  result." 

Mr.  Wellniont  spoke  words  of  consolation  and  S}Tmpathy ; 
for  he  was  reminded  of  the  death  of  his  own  father,  of  his 
mother's  struggles  afterwards,  and  how  he  was  enabled  at  last 
to  rise  above  all  these  afflictions,  as  he  now  believed.  He 
recounted  incidents  in  his  experience  by  which  he  had  been 
encouraged  and  directed ;  and  there  is  always  exceeding  inter- 
est attached  to  such  allusions  from  one  who  has  established  a 
superiority  of  position.  As  they  thus  conversed  together, 
their  hearts  were  attracted  by  mutual  sympathies ;  and  that 
mysterious  magnetic  influence  which  arises  between  persons  in 
the  dawning  of  love  was  rapidly  acquiring  power  and  ascend- 
ency over  the  ceremonies  of  a  formal  acquaintance.  Edith 
might  have  won  too  many  glances  of  thrilling  admiration  to 
recall  afterwards  in  tranquillity,  had  they  not  suddenly  arrived 
at  her  home,  —  all  too  soon,  as  both  inwardly  thought. 

Hagar  was  wayward  again  at  this  bringing  up  at  a  strange 
door  when  hastening  home,  and  with  difficulty  Mr.  Wellmont 
was  able  to  retain  the  least  command.  Edith,  trembling  with 
fear,  placed  her  foot  upon  the  step  of  the  chaise,  when  the 


EDITH     HALE.  103 

restive  animal  began  to  rear  and  plunge,  going  backward  and 
forward,  till  it  seemed  impossible  to  assist  her  to  alight.  At 
the  moment  she  attempted  to  descend  the  horse  sprang  for- 
ward, so  that  Edith  lost  her  balance,  and,  in  spite  of  Mr. 
Wellmont's  efforts,  she  was  thrown  upon  the  ground,  and  the 
wheel  passed  rapidly  over  her  body.  The  horse,  escaping 
from  all  control,  ran  off  in  the  direction  of  Father  Shaw's.  In 
an  agony  of  apprehension,  Mr.  Wellmont  found  Edith  insen- 
sible, while  a  stream  of  blood  was  issuing  from  her  mouth,  and 
her  face  was  livid  as  the  hue  of  death.  He  took  her  quick  ly 
in  his  arms,  and  carried  her  to  her  mother. 


CHAPTEK    VII. 

A    GLOOM    WITH   A    SINGLE    KAY   OF    LIGHT. 

NATURE  never  sympathizes  with  human  woe.  Within  a 
kingdom  of  her  own  she  sits,  in  royal  robes,  and  sings,  and 
blooms,  and  expands  in  strength,  regardless  of  that  mightier 
realm  of  mind  which  surrounds  and  permeates  her  heart  like 
light.  As  Edith  lay  with  her  hands  crossed  upon  her  bosom, 
the  hue  of  life  gone  from  her  cheeks,  and  the  strength  crushed 
out  of  her  frame,  so  lately  elastic  with  youthful  vigor,  the  birds 
of  summer  carolled  merrily  in  the  old  trees  about  the  cottage, 
the  squirrels  played  in  and  out  the  wall  at  the  foot  of 
the  garden,  and  the  flowers  opened  anew  their  beauty  to  the 
day.  But  how  still,  how  oppressively  solemn,  was  the  sick 
room,  where  life  and  death  strove  for  mastery  !  Still,  save 
the  sobs  of  the  broken-hearted  mother,  who  through  all  the 
late  fearful  hours  of  insensibility  had  ministered,  watched, 
agonized,  and  prayed  over  her  child,  with  the  outward  seem- 
ing of  composure;  but  when  Edith,  an  hour  before,  had  un- 
closed her  eyes  once  more,  recognized  her,  and  whispered  the 
single  word  "  Mother,"  her  heart  yielded  to  its  pent  grief,  and 
she  had  wept  without  restraint. 


EDITH     HALE.  105 

Edith  had  lapsed  into  a  slumber  after  a  terrible  struggle 
with  pain,  and  her  mother  knelt  beside  the  bed,  and,  with 
uplifted  hands,  cried  to  God  in  her  heart,  "  Why  hast  thou 
forsaken  me  ?  "  She  had  borne  the  many  trials  of  her  life,  one 
great  grief  after  another,  with  the  submissive  faith  and  forti- 
tude of  one  who  grounds  every  hope  upon  the  Rock  of  Ages ; 
but  this  last  blow  which  had  fallen  upon  her  darling  child 
seemed  too  great  to  bear.  It  was  a  fearful  dream,  whose 
waking  was  yet  a  more  fearful  reality.  Edith  must  wrestle 
with  her  pain  alone ;  and  she  must  stand  by,  behold,  and  yet 
could  in  no  wise  become  a  substitute.  No  human  love,  save  a 
mother's  equally  strong  ashers,  could  compass  the  depth  of 
her  agony. 

She  was  aroused  from  her  grief  by  the  quiet  entrance  of 
Dr.  Humphrey,  who  had  scarcely  left  the  sufferer  from  the 
first.  As  he  examined  his  patient,  his  face  brightened,  and 
he  whispered  to  Mrs.  Hale,  "Better,  decidedly  better;  we 
may  have  a  single  hope  now." 

"  Heaven  be  praised ! "  responded  the  mother,  the  tears 
raining  anew  down  her  sunken  cheeks. 

"  I  have  summoned  a  celebrated  surgeon,  upon  my  own 
responsibility,  to  meet  me  here  to-day,"  continued  the  doctor ; 
"  and  I  am  in  hopes  he  will  agree  with  me  that  she  has  sus- 
tained no  serious  injury." 

"  0,  doctor !  —  your  kindness  is  overpowering !  I  can  never 
repay  you !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Hale,  fervently. 

"  Not  a  word,  madam,  —  not  a  word  !  "  And  he  went  out 
again,  brushing  the  tears  from  his  eyes. 


106  EDITH     II  ALE. 

Once  more  did  the  mother  strive  with  her  wasting  grief 
alone ;  and  many  of  her  old  sorrows,  whose  bitterness  had 
sunk  into  her  hearl  years  agone,  returned  again  with  new 
freshness  and  power  (for  we  are  so  constituted  that  a  new  trial 
takes  to  its  embrace  every  former  one),  and  she  saw  before 
her  those  whom  she  had  long  loved,  but  who  were  dead,  or 
were  to  her  as  silent  as  though  in  reality  dead.  The  poor 
widow  had  no  relatives  to  soothe  and  sympathize  with  her. 
Between  her  and  those  of  her  kindred  blood  a  great  barrier 
stood,  through  which  she  could  not  pass,  or  even  look.  Yet 
how  often  against  that  gate  of  brass  had  smote  her  heart 
with  prayer  and  tears !  A  warm,  deep,  ardent  love  flowed 
through  her  soul  toward  those  with  whom  she  had  shared  the 
pleasure  and  blessing  of  a  common  paternal  home;  but  for 
years  no  answering  love  had  come,  no  word  of  friendliness  had 
been  exchanged. 

"  Was  ever  one  afflicted  as  I  am  ?  "  she  cried,  in  the  ful- 
ness of  her  agony.  How  many  have  uttered  this  wail  of 
woe  !  From  how  many  hearts  yet  unborn  must  go  up  these 
words ! 

A  gentle  tap  at  the  door  once  more  recalled  her  to  herself; 
and,  on  going  out  she  admitted  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  I  have  seen  Dr.  Humphrey,"  he  said,  "  and  he  told  me 
she  was  better.  I  could  not  stay  away." 

As  he  entered  the  sick  room  a  slight  breeze  rustled  the 
curtains  of  the  window,  which  sound  awoke  Edith  ;  and,  as  he 
saw  her  look  upon  him  with  recognition,  he  took  her  hand 
within  his  own,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  A  new  light  awoke 


EDITH     HALE.  107 

in  her  sad  eyes,  and  a  faint  color  came  to  her  cheeks ;  but  as 
suddenly  it  faded.  She  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  in  the  tears 
that  were  stealing  softly  down  to  her  boBom,  and  she  trembled 
with  a  returning  sense  of  overcoming  fear. 

"  Would  to  Heaven,"  said  he,  very  much  moved,  "  I  could 
bear  myself  the  pain  you  suffer  through  my  unfortunate 
agency ! " 

"  Not  that,"  murmured  Edith  very  faintly,  "  but  my  dream ! " 

"  You  can  forgive  me,  Edith  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Wellmont, 
bending  lower  over  her. 

She  replied  with  a  look  of  peace,  while  a  smile  of  kind- 
liness rested  upon  her  pale  face ;  he  seemed  actuated  by  a 

•. 
sudden  impulse,  and  ben^nis  lips  almost  to  hers ;  but,  quickly 

checking  himself,  he  stood  again  erect  and  silent,  retaining  her 
hand  within  his  own,  upon  which  he  gazed  abstractedly,  as  if 
lost  in  thought. 

"  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you  ?  Anything  in  my 
power  will  not  be  too  much  for  you  to  require,"  he  said,  at 
length,  to  Mrs.  Hale,  who  sat  weeping  convulsively. 

"  Pray  for  her,"  whispered  Edith,  brokenly ;  "  my  pain  is 
nothing  to  hers." 

Mr.  Wellmont  knelt  in  that  room  of  sorrow,  and  offered 
prayer  for  those  stricken  ones ;  prayer  so  fervent,  so  kind,  and 
so  true  to  their  sufferings  and  necessities,  that  it  seemed  to 
call  down  spiritual  blessings,  and  make  the  path  of  trust  and 
patience  more  perfect  to  their  recognition.  Mrs.  Hale  thanked 
Heaven  for  raising  up  such  a  friend  in  the  time  of  the  deser- 
tion of  those  who  had  once  been  dearer  than  friends. 


108  EDITH     HALE. 

After  this,  hearing  the  steps  of  another  visitor  in  the 
next  room,  Mrs.  Hale  went  out ;  and  Mr.  Wellmont,  as  if 
struck  with  some  new.recollection,  went  to  his  hat,  from  which 
he  took  a  rare  and  beautiful  bouquet,  and  placed  it  in  Edith's 
hand.  She  was  too  weak  to  raise  the  flowers ;  but  her  glance 
upon  them  expressed  more  than  many  words. 

"  They  are  cut  mostly  from  some  flowering  plants  which 
were  sent  me  by  my  mother,  a  few  weeks  since,"  he  said. 
"  They  were  very  dear  to  me,  and  therefore  I  bring  them  to 
you."  He  paused,  for  his  voice  had  deepened  into  peculiar 
tenderness.  It  was  a  moment  of  tremulous  bliss  to  Edith. 
With  the  melody  of  those  words  of  love  sounding  in  every 
chamber  of  her  soul,  she  could  have  died  like  the  breath  of  an 
jEolian  harp. 

"  Holy  and  fervent  love  !  had  earth  but  rest 
For  thee  and  thine,  this  world  were  all  too  fair." 

Much  more  Mr.  "Wellmont  would  have  said,  as  it  seemed  by 
the  expression  he  wore,  had  not  Mrs.  Hale  reappeared  with  a 
visitor,  whom  he  did  not  at  first  recognize  in  the  dim  light  of 
the  room ;  but  he  soon  heard  a  voice,  with  a  rustle  of  silks, 
which  he  knew  belonged  to  Mrs.  Witherell. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Wellmont!  —  you,  indeed!  I  declare  you 
frightened  me  !  "  Then  to  Mrs.  Hale  she  said  :  "  I  know  you 
told  me  some  one  was  in  here ;  but  I  did  n't  understand.  I 
thought  it  was  a  lady,  of  course  !  " 

On  going  up  to  Edith,  in  her  usual  loud,  assured  voice, 
Mrs.  Witherell  inquired  how  she  felt,  —  expressing  much 


EDITH     HALE.  109 

commiseration,  which,  for  the  most  part,  seemed  addressed  to 
Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  A  great  change,"  she  observed  to  Edith,  who  was  suffer- 
ing new  pain  from  the  excitement  produced  by  seeing  one  who 
so  thoroughly  aroused  and  disturbed  her,  "  from  that  horrid 
factory  to  this  still  room,  with  so  many  in  to  see  you." 

"  Not  a  pleasant  or  desirable  change,  by  any  means,  Mrs. 
Witherell,"  said  Mr.  "Wellmont,  with  a  flush  upon  his  brow. 

"  0,  I  suppose  the  pain  more  than  balances  the  pleasure  of 
so  many  attentions !  "  she  continued,  glancing  at  the  bouquet ; 
"  but  I  am  one  of  those  who  think  it  a  duty  to  look  on  the 
bright  side." 

Mrs.  Hale  saw  how  rapidly  Edith  was  getting  worse,  with 
painful  apprehensions ;  but  she  durst  not  ask  Mrs.  Witherell 
out ;  for  she  seemed  to  hold  it  a  condescension  to  come  in  at 
all,  and  the  poor  cannot  be  scrupulous  about  such  things. 
Mr.  Wellmont  immediately  took  his  departure,  and  Mrs. 
Witherell  sat  down,  with  an  evident  determination  of  making 
herself  comfortable,  —  loosening  her  bonnet-strings,  and  using 
her  fan  violently,  filling  the  room  with  a  continuous,  unpleas- 
ant sound.  Then,  as  she  conversed,  inquiring  every  par- 
ticular about  Edith's  accident,  she  contrived  to  examine  the 
various  articles  of  the  room  with  careful  scrutiny.  Mrs.  Hale 
discovered  this,  and  with  new  discomfort  followed  the  glances 
of  Mrs.  Witherell's  eyes,  and  so  spied  a  little  dust  upon  a 
moulding,  one  or  two  articles  out  of  place,  and  several  shreds 
upon  the  braided  carpet.  She  was  also  painfully  reminded 
of  her  poverty  by  means  of  this  examination,  for  she  could  not 
10 


HO  EDITH     HALE. 

wholly  forget  the  great  contrast  between  her  present  style  of 
living  and  that  of  her  past  life. 

In  the  few  minutes  of  her  call,  Mrs.  "Witherell's  vision 
seemed  quite  equal  to  that  of  the  butterfly,  on  whose  eye 
Leeuwenhoek  counted  thousands  of  facets,  each  of  which 
was  a  full  organ  of  sight.  Edith  became  momentarily  more 
excited,  and  Mrs.  Hale  more  anxious,  when,  to  her  relief,  Dr. 
Humphrey  again  appeared ;  and,  divining  how  matters  were 
at  a  glance,  he  whispered,  almost  savagely,  "  What  is  all  this 
fuss  here  for  ?  Don't  you  know  Edith's  life  depends  on  her 
being  kept  quiet  ?  " 

"  Is  the  case  very  critical,  doctor  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Wither- 
ell,  with  her  blandest  smile. 

"  Very  critical !  "  he  exclaimed ;  "  would  n't  you  think  your 
case  critical  if  the  wheel  of  a  chaise  had  gone  over  you,  my 
dear  madam  ?  " 

"I  suppose  I  should,"  replied  Mrs.  Witherell,  laughing 
nervously ;  then  added,  as  she  saw  Mrs.  Hale's  distress  :  "  It 
is  always  my  way,  I  may  say  my  misfortune,  to  laugh  when 
anything  ill  happens.  Before  now,  when  my  Simon  has  fallen 
and  hurt  him,  I  have  laughed  till  it  seemed  I  never  could 
stop." 

"  I  tell  you  all,  this  room  must  be  still,  —  still  as  a  well," 
said  the  doctor,  holding  wide  the  door. 

"  Well,  I  '11  go  !  "  said  Mrs.  Witherell.  "  But  I  had  nearly 
forgotten  that  I  brought  over  something  for  Edith."  As  she 
went  out  to  the  adjoining  room  for  her  package,  Edith  became 
quite  expectant ;  for  precious,  indeed,  is  such  a  remembrance 


EDITH     HALE.  Ill 

to  the  sick,  and  more  especially  to  one  in  need.  Mrs.  Hale's 
countenance  fell  as  she  saw  Mrs.  Witherell  return  with  a 
book.  "  I  thought  you  would  want  something  to  read  to 
Edith,  by  and  by,"  she  said,  "  and  I  suppose  you  have  n't 
many  books.  It  is  the  life  of  Luther,  a  most  excellent  and 
instructive  work.  Just  see  that  it  does  not  get  injured,  and 
return  it  at  your  leisure." 

"  There  is  an  account  of  the  Diet  of  Worms  in  it,  is  n't 
there  ? "  inquired  Dr.  Humphrey,  who  could  not  resist  the 
temptation. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Witherell,  "  I  believe  there  is ;  though 
it  is  some  time  since  I  read  the  book  myself." 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you,"  said  the  doctor,  in  a  tone  too  low  for 
other  ears  than  those  for  which  his  words  were  intended ;  "  it 
is  my  honest  opinion  a  diet  of  something  else  —  perhaps 
blanc-mange,  or  a  jelly  —  would  be  more  acceptable  here." 

"  0,  you  funny  man  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Witherell,  regard- 
ing the  whole  thing  as  an  excellent  joke.  "  But  I  must  say 
one  thing  more  before  I  go,"  she  added,  going  back  to  Edith, 
who  now  lay  moaning  with  pain.  "  I  wish  to  caution  you,  and 
you,  Mrs.  Hale,  to  be  careful  of  appearances.  Don't  let  too 
many  gentlemen  in  here,  especially  single  gentlemen.  If 
Edith  should  lose  her  good  name,  it  would  be  far  worse  than 
losing  her  life."  And  thus  she  at  last  withdrew. 

Many  days  of  pain  and  tears  went  wearily  by  before  Edith 
became  perceptibly  better ;  but  gradually  she  gained  a  little 
strength,  and  at  last  Dr.  Humphrey  gave  his  opinion  that 
she  would  quite  recover  in  time.  The  bone  which  had  been 


112  EDITH     HALE. 

broken  in  her  shoulder  had  been  successfully  united;  and 
this  proved  to  be  the  most  serious  injury. 

Mary  Pickering  had  persuaded  her  father  to  permit  her  to 
remain  with  her  friend  continually  ;  and  she  had  been  a  most 
affectionate  nurse  to  Edith,  and  a  careful  assistant  to  Mr?. 
Hale.  But,  among  the  many  who  had  shown  their  friendli- 
ness in  various  offices  of  love  during  this  season  of  distress, 
no  one  had  manifested  a  more  earnest  and  constant  interest 
in  Edith's  case  than  Mr.  Wellmont.  When  she  had  so  far 
gained  strength  as  to  be  able  to  listen  to  reading,  he  came 
almost  daily  with  an  entertaining  book  from  his  library,  and 
read  aloud,  pausing  often  to  converse  upon  some  topic  of 
interest  suggested  by  the  reading,  or  to  explain  an  allusion  to 
the  classical  myths  or  historical  facts  with  which  his  listeners 
were  unacquainted.  At  such  times  his  manner  was  most  at- 
tractive and  impressive,  but  always  dignified,  though  devoid 
of  clerical  restraints. 

These  hours  were  more  precious  to  Edith  than  she  was  then 
aware.  The  suffering  she  had  endured  seemed  scarcely  too 
great  a  sacrifice  for  such  exceeding  pleasure  as  the  society  of 
Mr.  Wellmont  afforded.  The  mother,  well  knowing  the  intri- 
cate labyrinth  of  the  human  heart,  observed  these  things  until 
she  trembled  for  Edith's  future  peace  ;  and,  when  they  were 
quite  by  themselves,  she  ventured  very  kindly  to  caution  her 
not  to  let  her  heart  presume  too  far  upon  this  condescension. 
Edith  opened  her  sad  eyes,  as  if  at  a  loss  to  comprehend 
her  meaning. 

"  I  mean,  my  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Hale,  "  in  plain  words, 


EDITH     HALE.  113 

that,  having  seen  more  of  the  world  than  you  have,  I  fear,  by 
the  interest  you  manifest  in  Mr.  Wellinont,  that  he  is  becom- 
ing too  necessary  to  your  happiness,  —  especially  if  you  must 
by  and  by  resign  him  to  another." 

"  llesign  him  to  another  !  "  repeated  Edith.  "  He  is  not 
mine  to  resign ;  and,  then,  if  he  were,  to  what  other  do  you 
refer  ?  " 

"  I  know  of  no  one,"  said  Mrs.  Hale.  "  But  that  does  not 
relieve  you  of  the  necessity  of  being  very  careful  not  to  have 
him  too  much  in  your  thoughts ;  for,  my  dear  child,  you  must 
know  that  a  man  like  Mr.  Wellmont  would  never  think  of 
uniting  his  destiny  with  our  family." 

No,"  said  Edith,  slowly  and  painfully;  "  and  yet,"  she 
d,  "  I  have  heard  of  great  men  selecting  wives  from  as 
humble  life  as  mine.  It  is  a  maxim,  '  Equality  is  no  rule  in 
Love's  grammar.' " 

"  Have  you  thought  well  of  the  great  disparity  between 
Mr.  Wellmont  and  yourself?  "  The  mother's  voice  faltered. 
"  Heaven  knows  what  you  might  have  been,  my  child,  had 
justice  been  done  me  by  my  family,  and  your  father  not  been 
so  cruelly  defrauded.  But  I  do  wrong,"  continued  Mrs.  Hale ; 
"  God  knows  what  is  best  for  each  of  his  children." 

"  Yes,  dearest  mother,"  said  Edith,  "  if  1  had  been  en- 
dowed with  the  advantages  which  many  possess,  I  might  have 
been  a  simpleton,  or  so  inflated  with  pride  and  vanity  as  never 
to  have  been  beloved.  As  it  is,  I  have  many  dear  friends 
whose  love  I  could  ill  afford  to  exchange  for  such  a  compen- 
sation." 


114  EDITH     HALE. 

"  I  trust,  Edith,  you  will  be  guarded  in  this  matter  of 
which  I  have  spoken,"  concluded  Mrs.  Hale.  "You  may 
think  you  are  perfectly  secure  now ;  but  I  have  seen  so  many 
hearts  wounded  in  a  similar  way,  I  cannot  think  of  you  with- 
out fear.  You  will  be  alone  in  the  world  soon,  and  God 
grant "  —  the  mother  could  not  go  on  now.  The  idea  of 
separation  was  nothing  new  to  her  ;  but  Edith's  look  of  dis- 
tress appealed  to  her  heart  too  strongly  for  her  to  over- 
come. The  thought  came  bitterly,  "  Had  she  so  long  strug- 
gled with  disease,  and  Edith  deceived  herself  with  fallacious 
hope  as  to  the  inevitable  result  ?  " 

"  I  know  you  will  get  better  soon,"  said  Edith.  "  You  have 
over-exerted  yourself  for  me,  of  late ;  but,  now  that  I  am 
regaining  my  health  so  rapidly,  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  take 
the  place  of  nurse,  and  you  will  be  yourself  again." 

"  No  !  "  replied  the  mother,  sadly  ;  "  it  is  vain  for  me  to 
encourage  you  or  myself  any  longer.  The  disease  with  which 
I  have  long  contended  is  overcoming  me  at  last,  and  what  I 
have  to  do  must  be  done  quickly." 

A  short  time  after  this,  Mr.  Wellmont  came  again,  and 
conversed  so  cheerfully  and  pleasantly,  that  Edith  forgot  her 
mother's  warning,  and  was  not  less  interested  than' ever.  Be- 
fore her  illness,  he  had  commenced  instructing  her  in  Latin, 
and  she  was  now  so  far  recovered  that  the  lessons  were 
resumed.  Her  progress  had  been  rapid  and  thorough,  so  that 
she  had  become  able  to  translate  in  one  of  the  advanced  works 
by  the  assistance  of  her  teacher ;  and,  as  they  sat  together, 
Edith  rendering  the  words  and  Mr.  Wellmont  looking  after, 


EDITH     HALE.  115 

often  glancing  at  the  face  of  his  pupil,  so  pale,  yet  so  beauti- 
ful with  blushes  when  a  word  chanced  to  be  stumbled  over 
falsely ;  her  brown,  luxuriant  hair  put  softly  from  her  spirit- 
ual forehead,  and  her  large,  dark  eyes,  radiant  with  love,  yet 
ever  sad  and  reflective,  it  was  no  marvel  that  the  mother,  who 
observed  it  all,  was  troubled.  Edith  was  gifted  with  a  voice 
of  peculiar  sweetness ;  it  was  not  quick-toned  and  sonorous, 
like  the  gay  carol  of  a  bird,  but  so  calm  and  purely  melodious 
that  the  listener  was  wiled  into  a  deep  and  serene  enjoyment. 
As  Mr.  Wellmont  listened,  he  recalled  a  couplet  from  Horace  : 

"  Both  tongues  united  sweeter  sounds  produce, 
Like  Chian  mixed  with  the  Falernian  juice." 

Edith  passed  a  moment  to  consult  her  lexicon,  and  he  fell  to 
comparing  the  merits  of  their  Latin  author  with  those  of 
Milton.  After  several  criticisms,  as  an  example  of  Milton's 
felicity  of  style  and  correspondence  to  his  idea  in  point,  he 
repeated,  with  great  impressiveness,  betraying  the  language  of 
his  own  sentiments : 

"  For  while  I  sit  with  thee,  I  seem  in  heaven, 
And  sweeter  thy  discourse  is  to  my  ear 
Than  fruits  of  palm-tree  pleasantest  to  thirst 
And  hunger  both,  from  labor  at  the  hour 
Of  sweet  repast ;  they  satiate,  and  soon  fill, 
Though  pleasant  ;  but  thy  words,  with  grace  divine 
Imbued,  bring  to  their  sweetness  no  satiety  ! ' ' 

Edith  resumed  her  reading  without  venturing  to  lift  her 


116  EDITH     HALE. 

eyes  above  her  book ;  for,  in  that  moment,  she  would  not  have 
betrayed  a  consciousness  or  embarrassment  for  worlds. 

That  afternoon,  Mr.  Wellrncnt  received  a  letter  from  his 
mother,  which,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  occasioned  him 
unpleasant  reflections.  It  was  read  and  re-read,  till  every 
word  had  burned  itself  into  his  heart.  Long  did  he  pause 
to  think,  as  each  time  he  read  these  sentences: 

"My  son,  the  manner  in  which  you  write  of  that  young  girl 
you  call  Edith  Hale  alarms  me.  When  you  first  mentioned  her 
name  in  your  letters,  I  felt  unpleasantly,  although  you  defended 
yourself  from  any  especial  interest  in  her.  But  of  late  you 
write  of  her  with  an  earnestness  which  cannot  result  from  the 
ordinary  sentiments  a  minister  feels  for  any  afflicted  member  of 
the  parish.  Is  it  possible,  my  dear  Paul,  that  one  so  educated 
and  accustomed  to  the  refinements  of  life  can  take  pleasure 
in  the  society  of  a  poor,  unsophisticated  factory-girl  ?  Perish 
the  thought,  for  the  most  distant  allusion  overwhelms  me  with 
unspeakable  grief!  You  may  be  disposed  to  reply  that  she 
possesses  many  superior  graces  of  intellect  and  manner. 
When  a  man  is  in  love  he  always  sees  perfections  in  the 
object  which  are  only  the  reflection  of  his  own  imagination, 
and  have  no  real  existence ;  as  in  the  optical  illusion  of  mi- 
rage, which  causes  remote  objects  to  appear  inversed,  as  if 
thrown  from  a  mirror. 

"  But,  if  you  persist  that  you  are  correct  in  this  position, 
is  it  wise  for  you  to  marry  one  who  is  in  the  lowest  grade  of 
poverty,  so  that  you  will  ever  be  obliged  to  provide  her  entire 
support,  and  that  of  her  mother  besides  ?  Where,  then,  in 


EDITH     HALE.  117 

my  declining  years,  is  my  prospect  of  a  home  with  you,  my 
son  ?  With  pain  do  I  ask  you  to  recall  all  the  long,  strait- 
ened past  of  your  life,  wherein  I  have  watched  over  you,  and 
labored  for  you  to  the  extent  of  my  ability,  suffering  alwa}rs 
from  feeble  health,  but  regarding  no  sacrifice  too  great  for 
your  good  !  And  now,  when  you  have  just  begun  to  live  for 
yourself,  and  to  attain  a  position  among  your  fellow-men, 
will  you  peril  your  influence  among  your  people,  who,  believe 
me,  will  never  submit  to  the  selection  of  such  an  one  from 
among  them  vO  fill  the  high  position  of  the  wife  of  their  min- 
ister ?  Will  ycu  insult  the  families  of  your  associate  clergy, 
by  introducing  among  them  an  uncongenial  person,  but  lately 
graduated  from  a  factory  ?  Will  you  (though,  perhaps,  the 
least  consideration  of  all)  wound  my  feelings  beyond  all  cure, 
blight  all  my  high  hopes  for  you,  and  deprive  me  of  my  latest 
consolations,  by  thus  immolating  yourself  on  such  an  unwor- 
thy altar  ?  No !  I  know  my  son  too  well  to  believe  this 
distressing  supposition  for  a  moment.  When  next  you  write, 
reassure  me,  my  dear  Paul,  that  you  have  no  such  intentions, 
that  I  may  be  once  more  happy  and  hopeful  in  your  behalf." 

Again,  in  recurring  to  the  subject  of  her  son's  marriage, 
she  wrote  :  "  I  have  long  hoped  you  would  find  a  companion 
worthy  of  yourself,  who  would  prove  a  blessing  to  your  parish 
and  your  home.  If  possible,  choose  a  wife  who  has  property 
in  possession  or  prospective ;  for  a  minister  has  but  a  poor 
prospect  in  life,  if  he  have  not  other  resources  for  support,  in 
case  of  any  exigency,  than  the  precarious  dole  of  a  fickle- 
minded  parish.  Your  wife  should  also  be  thoroughly  edu- 


118  EDITH     IIALE. 

cated  at  the  best  schools,  and  refined  by  intimacy  with  the 
most  correct  society,  in  order  to  contribute  to  your  happiness, 
and  to  satisfy  you,  through  all  coming  life,  that  your  choice 
was  well  made." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

MEETING  AND  PARTING. 

MR.  WELLMONT  was  never  indifferent  to  the  words  of  his 
mother,  and  this  letter  occasioned  him  long  and  painful  reflec- 
tion. It  unclosed  his  eyes  to  a  truth  of  which  he  was  scarcely 
aware  before,  that  his  sentiments  towards  Edith  had  grown 
into  a  love  too  strong  to  throw  away  lightly. 

Yet  the  arguments  of  his  mother  fell  upon  his  heart  with 
the  weight  of  conviction.  To  increase  his  discomfort,  for 
troubles  never  come  singly,  one  or  two  leading  persons  of  his 
church  took  occasion,  about  this  time,  to  inform  him  that  it 
was  whispered  he  was  too  attentive  to  Mrs.  Hale  and  Edith 
for  mere  friendship.  They  added,  too,  that  they  did  not 
believe  it  was  possible  he  could  think  of  marrying  a  poor  girl 
like  her,  who  had  worked  in  the  factory ;  it  would  be  a  disgrace 
to  the  parish,  and  a  scandal  to  the  clergy. 

Mr.  Wellmont  felt  all  this  keenly,  for  he  had  no  disposition 
to  brave  the  opposition  of  the  world  in  an  affair  of  the  heart. 
But  more  than  all  was  he  influenced  by  the  plea  of  his 
mother  respecting  his  duty  to  secure  a  provision  for  her  future 
years.  That  she  might  ever  suffer  because  he  was  unable  to 


120  EDITH     HALE. 

give  her  assistance,  was  a  thought  he  could  not  cherish  for.  a 
moment.  He  remembered  that  he  had  made  no  pledge  to 
Edith,  spoken  no  unmistakable  word  of  love;  and  he  soou 
began  to  reason  with  his  heart  upon  the  necessity  of  resigning 
its  passion  to  higher  interests  and  aspirations.  And  now  for 
weeks  and  months  of  bitter  self-conflict  he  was  one  of  the 
most  miserable  of  men. 

As  he  continued  the  discharge  of  his  pastoral  duties  in 
Waterbury,  he  became  acquainted  with  different  members  of 
the  clergy  in  the  vicinity.  Two  of  these,  who  had  some  busi- 
ness to  transact  with  him  connected  with  a  denominational  asso- 
ciation, met  him  in  his  study,  one  afternoon,  and  lingered  to 
discuss  some  private  matters  pertaining  to  the  experience  of 
their  profession. 

"  It  is  surprising  how  very  conceited  the  people  are  becom- 
ing !  "  remarked  Mr.  Lund,  who  was  a  heavy,  sombre-looking 
man,  and  carried  great  reserve  with  him,  —  speaking  always 
in  that  tone  which  is  supposed  by  many  to  be  a  sign  of  unusual 
holiness. 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  by  way  of  eliciting  informa- 
tion ;  "  I  was  hardly  aware  of  the  fact,  though  my  experience 
is  not  commensurate  with  yours." 

"  I  am  very  much  troubled  to  keep  my  parishioners  in  their 
place ;"  and  he  now  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair,  looking 
thoroughly  formidable  ;  "  they  do  not  scruple  to  come  to  me, 
at  all  times,  with  unreasonable  requests,  and  put  themselves 
forward,  upon  assumed  rights,  altogether  too  much.  I  wish  I 
lived  in  the  days  of  the  old  standing  order,  when  the  people 


EDITH     HALE.  121 

truly  and  humbly  reverenced  their  minister,  and  went  to  him 
for  spiritual  and  even  temporal  direction,  as  obedient  servants 
to  their  master." 

"  I  have  little  difficulty  on  this  point,"  observed  Mr.  Swin- 
ton,  "  for  my  people  are  generally  unobtrusive  and  respectful, 
excepting  one  or  two  only,  whom  I  manage  by  throwing  them 
something  else  to  bite  when  they  snap  at  me ;  as,  some  great 
political  or  moral  question  of  the  day ;  and,  if  that  don't  work 
the  right  way,  I  bring  them  into  good-humor  by  playing  upon 
their  weak  points." 

"  Much  may  be  effected  by  that  course,  I  know,"  observed 
Mr.  Wellrnont,  smiling. 

"  That  is  what  I  never  descend  to  !  "  remarked  Mr.  Lund, 
looking  down,  in  imagination,  upon  his  people,  with  an  air  of 
one  of  the  "  shaggy  Centaurs  of  the  hills."  "  I  make  my  people 
know,  in  the  first  place,  and  always,  that  I  shall  not  preach 
to  please  the  n,  neither  shall  I  act  to  please  them.  If  I  think 
anything  is  duty,  I  shall  do  it ;  if  I  think  any  doctrine  should 
be  preached,  I  shall  preach  it,  let  it  hit  who  or  where  it  will. 
I  bring  them  much  more  into  their  places,  and  I  keep  them 
there,"  —  here  he  struck  down  his  hand  heavily  upon  the  table, 
—  "  than  I  should  in  any  other  way.  I  glory  in  telling  a 
man  his  faults,  or  a  church  its  faults,"  continued  Mr.  Lund, 
1 '  if  I  am  slain  for  the  truth's  sake.  I  have  left  six  parishes 
already  because  I  preached  the  truth ;  and  I  am  ready  to  leave 
six  more,  if  need  be." 

"  You  are  getting  earnest,  brother  Lund,"  said  Mr.  Swinton. 

"  'T  is  time,  and  high  time,  we  were  all  earnest ;  let  us  do 
11 


122  EDITH     II  ALE. 

whatsoever  our  hands  find  to  do,  with  sill  our  might,  while  the 
day  lasts." 

"  I  think  brother  Lund  is  right  in  his  premises,  but  not  in 
his  conclusions,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont.  "  That  we  should  preach 
the  truth  without  fear  of  man  is  certainly  commanded  us ; 
but  we  should  not  necessarily  conclude  that  the  truth  must  be 
presented  in  a  strength  and  proportion  to  all  people  alike, 
without  respect  to  different  temperaments  and  prejudices ; 
neither  should  the  Gospel  of  peace  be  preached  as  though  the 
hearers  were  to  be  driven  by  force.  In  this  connection,  I  am 
reminded  of  what  an  aged  minister  whom  I  once  knew  used 
to  say :  '  It  is  better  to  say  canan  to  the  people  than  st'l'oy  ;' 
and  I  think  the  spirit  of  that  homely  precept  will  go  further 
and  better,  every  way,  than  so  much  use  of  whips  and  threats. 
It  is  allied  too  nearly  to  barbarity,  this  violence,  and  taking 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  by  force  in  this  way.  A  traveller 
tells  us  that  in  Khavaresm,  one  of  the  Turkish  cities,  in  every 
mosque  a  whip  was  hung  up,  with  which  every  person  who 
absented  himself  from  worship  was  soundly  flogged  by  the 
priest,  besides  being  fined  in  five  dinars.  Now,  such  a  spirit 
as  that  is  not  the  one  for  us." 

"  I  will  tell  you  something  of  my  management,"  said  Mr. 
Swinton,  who  was  a  dapper,  exquisite  man,  with  a  prevailing 
vein  of  sentiment  in  his  organization ;  "  I  intend  to  preach 
the  truth,  because  woe  is  me  if  I  preach  any  other  gospel ; 
but  this  necessity  does  not  demand  that  I  should  preach  so  as 
to  offend  two  thirds  of  my  people,  and  gradually,  but  certainly, 
destroy  all  my  influence.  As  I  said,  I  sometimes  make 


EDITH     HALE.  123 

merchandise  of  people's  foibles.  For  instance,  some  time 
since  I  learned,  by  one  of  those  benevolent  individuals  who 
esteem  it  a  pleasure  and  a  duty  to  enlighten  me  about  what 
people  say  of  me,  that  a  certain  prominent  lady  of  my  church 
had  taken  serious  offence  at  something  I  had  said  in  a  meet- 
ing, and  that  she  was  dispensing  her  displeasure  very  freely 
among  the  ladies  in  general.  I  knew  that  this  would  not  do 
at  all,  for  the  voice  of  one  leading  woman  goes  further  in 
favor  of,  or  against,  a  minister,  than  the  votes  of  half  a  dozen 
men.  Shortly  after  this,  occurred  a  meeting  of  our  Ladies' 
Sewing  Society,  and  I  made  it  convenient  to  attend  early  in 
the  afternoon,  which  is  contrary  to  my  custom.  I  entered  the 
parlor  where  sat  the  ladies,  chatting  and  sewing  as  busy  as 
bees,  in  my  happiest  style  (allow  me  to  say) ;  and,  after  speak- 
ing to  every  one  present,  I  selected  my  seat  beside  that  lady 
who  was  so  displeased  with  me,  and  endeavored  to  make  myself 
as  agreeable  as  possible.  At  first,  she  was  rather  chilly ;  but 
I  soon  moderated  the  atmosphere  by  several  clever  observa- 
tions. Then  I  called  for  sewing,  and  the  ladies  about  me 

began  to  laugh  immoderately ;  but,  as  I  persisted,  Mrs.  L 

(my  enemy)  passed  me  a  basket  of  work,  from  which  I  selected 
a  square  of  patch-work,  inquiring  directly  if  the  square  did 
not  represent  an  album  bed-quilt,  secretly  intended  as  a  gift 

to  their  pastor.     Mrs.  L was  very  good-humored  at  this, 

and  when  I  asked  her  to  thread  my  needle  was  in  perfect 
ecstasy.  So  I  sewed  and  conversed,  keeping  the  ladies  in 
excellent  spirits,  and  gradually  attracting  all  in  the  room 
about  me  till  I  was  completely  enclosed  by  beauty  and  fra- 


EDITH     HALE. 

grance,  like  a  rose-bug  in  the  heart  of  a  hundred-leaved  rose ! 
I  assure  you  I  had  no  more  enemies  among  the  ladies  after 
that,  for  I  made  every  one  of  them  thread  my  needle  once  at 
least,  awkwardly  pulling  out  the  thread  for  that  express  pur- 
pose. They  all  examined  my  work  when  it  was  finished,  and 
declared  it  a  perfect  performance,  though  I  knew  it  was  done 
execrably.  What  was  more,  brethren,  when  the  bed-quilt  to 
which  that  square  belonged  was  finished,  it  was  presented 
to  their  '  beloved  pastor ;'  although  they  had  originally  in- 
tended to  sell  it,  and  add  the  proceeds  to  their  charity  funds. 
As  I  linger  in  bed  of  mornings,  I  often  look  at  that  square, 
which  was  placed  exactly  in  the  centre  of  the  quilt,  and  think 
that  was  one  of  the  happiest  hits  of  my  life !  " 

"  You  have  a  wife,  Mr.  Swinton,"  said  Mr.  Lund,  very 
seriously ;  "I  wish  to  inquire  if  she  accompanied  you  to  that 
society  meeting." 

"  She  was  away  then  on  a  visit  out  of  town,"  replied  Mr. 
Swinton,  rather  reluctantly. 

"  I  have  heard  that  she  is  out  of  health,  and  suffers  occa- 
sionally from  alarming  nervous  attacks,"  continued  Mr. 
Lund. 

"  Yes !  "  said  Mr.  Swinton ;  "  but  I  can't  see  what  connec- 
tion that  has  to  the  subject  in  point." 

"  Can't  you  ?  "Well,  I  will  make  it  a  subject  of  prayer  that 
the  eyes  of  your  understanding  may  be  opened,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Lund,  with  deepening  solemnity. 

"  After  all,"  thought  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  Mr.  Lund  means 
well,  it  is  evident,  but  errs  from  a  lack  of  judgment,  and 


EDITH     HALE.  125 

knowledge  of  human  nature,  in  his  vocation  as  a  public  teacher 
of  the  truth ;  this  reproof  to  Mr.  Swinton  I  like,  and  it  dis- 
covers that  there  is,  at  least,  one  vein  of  pure  gold  in  his 
character."  But,  desirous  of  changing  a  subject  which  seemed 
to  be  growing  into  unpleasantness,  he  said  to  his  friends, 
"  I  have  got  along  very  amicably  with  the  people  in  this 
place  thus  far,  and  I  have  already  formed  many  pleasant 
attachments." 

"  I  see  but  two  things  which  you  lack,"  said  Mr.  Swinton, 
"  a  parsonage  and  a  wife ;  and  I  think  I  can  put  you  in  the 
way  to  obtain  both,  independent  of  your  parish,  which  is  always 
desirable.  I  know  a  lady  who,  I  think,  would  do  nicely  for 
you,  though  she  has  not  been  exactly  educated  for  a  minister's 
wife.  She  is  a  cousin  of  mine,  and  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
merchant  of  the  city  of  K, ." 

At  this  suggestion  a  shadow  crossed  Mr.  Wellmont's  brow, 
and  the  figure  of  Edith  Hale,  in  all  her  grace  and  truthfulness, 
arose  unbidden  before  his  mind ;  and  it  was  difficult  to  waive 
the  picture  aside. 

"  I  am  not  an  adept  in  such  matters,  and,  really,  you  must 
excuse  me,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Swinton. 

"  It  is  amusing,  certainly,  to  hear  one  with  your  conversa- 
tional talent  talk  in  that  way ;  one  so  well  provided  as  to 
have  a  clever  epigram  or  a  classical  titbit  at  every  turn ! 
But,  if  I  must  indoctrinate  you  into  the  mode  of  procedure  in 
such  cases,  allow  me  to  repeat,  in  the  language  of  another, 
what  you  can  first*address  to  the  lady.  In  fact,  it  is  quite  in 
your  own  style : 

11* 


126  EDITH     HALE. 

'  Hear  me  exemplify  love's  Latin  word, 
As  thus  :  Hearts  joined  amore  :  take  a  from  thence, 
Then  more  is  the  perfect  moral  sense  ; 
Plural  in  manners,  which  in  thee  do  shine 
Saint-like,  immortal,  spotless,  and  divine  ! 
Take  m  away,  ore  in  beauty's  name 
Craves  an  eternal  trophy  to  thy  fame.'  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  with  a  smile  of  hidden 
meaning.  "  I  will  try  and  profit  by  your  instructions.  How- 
ever, I  have  no  ambition  to  be  another  Frauenlob,  of  whom, 
excuse  me  if  I  say,  you  have  already  reminded  me.  In  fact, 
it  strikes  me  he  will  very  nearly  prove  your  archetype." 

"  How  so  ?     I  don't  comprehend,"  rejoined  Mr.  Swinton. 

"  Have  you  never  read  of  Henry  Von  Missen  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Wellmont.  "  He  received  as  an  honor,  so  the  account  goes, 
the  name  of  Henry  Frauenlob,  because  the  principal  theme  of 
his  songs  was  the  virtues  of  the  fair  sex.  For  this  reason  he 
was  so  highly  esteemed  by  the  ladies  of  his  time  that  they  are 
said  to  have  carried  his  body  with  their  own  hands  to  the 
grave,  which  they  bathed  with  their  tears,  and  around  which 
they  poured  so  much  wine  as  to  inundate  the  whole  floor  of 
the  church.  I  think  the  ladies  of  your  time  will  express  the 
juice  of  roses  for  their  libation  at  your  demise,  as  your  lan- 
guage shows  your  heart  to  be  always  wandering  among  the 
flowers. 

"  I  am  no  match  for  you  in  a  contest  of  this  sort,"  said  Mr. 
Swinton ;  "  so  I  will  close  my  remarks,  as  we  have  it  in  our 
sermons,  by  arranging  that  you  must  exchange  with  me  on 


EDITH     HALE.  127 

the  Sabbath  after  next,  and  I  will  contrive  to  have  this  lady 
meet  you  at  my  house." 

Mr.  Wellmont  hesitated,  and  examined  his  note-book  to 
ascertain  if  he  had  any  engagement  to  conflict  with  the  pro- 
posed arrangement,  for  he  was  more  than  half  inclined  to  offer 
an  excuse;  but  Mr.  Swinton  rallied  him  upon  his  bachelor 
propensities,  and  was  so  earnest  in  the  matter,  that  he  finally 
obtained  a  reluctant  consent. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  young  minister  thus  sat  and  communed 
with  his  friends,  in  the  little  brown  cottage,  under  the  majestic 
maple-trees  and  fragrant  balm-gileads,  Edith  sat,  and  watched 
by  her  mother.  Mrs.  Hale  had  failed  rapidly  of  late,  so  that 
she  was  obliged  to  remain  in  her  room  altogether ;  but,  un- 
willing to  take  to  her  bed,  lest  it  might  alarm  Edith,  she  sat 
during  the  day  in  her  arm-chair,  supported  by  pillows,  and 
working  on  some  light  sewing,  when  able.  On  this  afternoon, 
the  weather  being  unusually  oppressive,  she  had  found  herself 
too  weak  to  sew,  and  she  remained  quite  motionless  in  her 
chair.  The  thin,  pale  hand  which  lay  upon  her  bosom 
seemed  now  clasped  invisibly  by  the  angel  of  the  dark  valley, 
and  her  eyes  were  looking  far  away  into  the  blessed  land, 
from  which  the  veil  was  fast  being  removed 

She  had  thus  sat  for  some  time,  when  she  roused  herself, 
and  said  :  "  Edith,  my  dear,  while  I  have  strength  I  must  tell 
you  yet  something  more.  You  know  already  some  of  the 
circumstances  of  my  marriage  with  your  father ;  how  I  was 
disowned  by  my  family,  so  that  they  never  held  communica- 
tion with  me  from  that  time.  But  I  have  never  thought  it 


128  EDITH     HALE. 

wise  to  detail  to  you  all  my  sufferings  in  this  connection.  If 
my  mother  had  not  died  in  my  girlhood,  the  bitterness  of  my 
fortune  would  have  been  mitigated  by  her  love  and  interces- 
sion with  colder  and  harder  hearts." 

"  But  what  occasioned  so  much  opposition  ?  "  interrupted 
Edith.  "  My  father  was  always  good  and  noble-spirited." 

"  I  will  tell  you,  briefly.  My  father  was  one  of  the  wealth- 
iest men  in  Boston.  He  was  proud,  exact,  and  unflinching  in 
all  his  purposes,  to  such  a  degree  that  his  family  regarded  him 
with  absolute  fear.  By  his  desire  we  were  surrounded  with  lux- 
ury, provided  with  the  most  expensive  masters  for  the  acquire- 
ment of  our  education  and  accomplishments,  and  allowed 
every  privilege  deemed  consistent  with  our  rank. 

"  My  sister  inherited  the  -disposition  of  our  father,  and 
became  one  of  the  proudest  of  women.  Her  heart  was 
never  reached  save  through  the  avenues  of  worldly  inter- 
est. But  my  noble  brother  was  the  reverse,  —  always  con- 
siderate and  generous.  After  the  death  of  our  excellent 
mother  his  health  began  to  decline,  and  he  was  sent  on  the 
tour  of  Europe.  He  sailed  from  New  York,  to  which  place  I 
accompanied  him,  where  I  remained  some  time  after,  on  a 
visit  to  the  family  of  an  aunt.  Here  I  met  your  father,  who 
was  then  a  principal  clerk  in  the  extensive  mercantile  house 
of  my  uncle.  He  had  entered  the  city,  I  was  told,  a  poor 
orphan-boy,  without  money  or  friends,  in  search  of  his  for- 
tune; and,  chancing  to  attract  the  attention  of  my  uncle  by 
the  performance  of  some  valuable  but  accidental  service  for 
him,  was  received  into  his  employ,  in  which  situation  he  soon 


EDIT1I     HALE.  129 

won  unusual  favor  for  his  honesty  and  diligence.  We  became 
in  love  with  each  other.  He  told  me  the  tale  of  his  previous 
life,  which  was  clouded  by  many  sorrows,  and  I  loved  him 
none  the  less.  But,  when  this  came  to  the  knowledge  of  my 
father,  he  was  enraged,  and  bade  me  at  once  discontinue  all 
acquaintance  with  the  poor  upstart,  as  he  called  him.  This  I 
could  not  do  ;  for,  unworldly  as  I  was,  his  poverty  and  obscur- 
ity seemed  no  sufficient  cause  for  such  a  course.  We  were 
married,  and  my  husband  lost  his  situation  in  the  result. 
This  was  a  source  of  much  anxiety  and  trouble  ;  but  we  strug- 
gled along  through  many  privations,  to  which  I  was  all 
unused,  forbearing  to  apply  to  my  father  for  assistance, 
because  I  knew  well  he  would  be  inexorable  in  his  displeas- 
ure ;  and,  as  I  had  thwarted  him  in  his  design  of  marrying 
me  to  a  man  of  wealth  and  position,  I  was  also  too  proud  to 
humble  myself  thus  before  him.  In  time  we  overcame  our 
difficulties,  and  your  father  acquired  a  considerable  fortune. 
Weary  of  city  life,  we  came  here  to  Waterbury,  and  settled 
in  a  beautiful  place,  which  attracted  our  attention  while  pass- 
ing it  on  a  journey.  We  thought  to  spend  our  days  here  in 
ease  and  quietness ;  but  we  were  defrauded  by  a  false-hearted 
friend,  and,  when  your  father  died,  and  we  were  compelled 
to  move  into  this  cottage,  which  had  been  tenanted  by  one  of 
our  laborers,  our  accumulated  misfortunes  hastened  a  tendency 
to  disease  in  my  system,  which  I  inherited  from  my  mother. 
But  I  know  it  is  all  for  the  best.  If  my  dear  brother  were 
only  living  now,  I  could  leave  you  in  peace.  But  I  will  trust 
God  for  your  protection." 


130  EDITH     HALE. 

"  I  remember  you  once  spoke  of  receiving  news  from  him 
after  his  departure.  Did  you  never  hear  but  once  before  you 
learned  his  death  ?  "  inquired  Edith. 

"  Only  once  did  our  family  hear  directly.  He  was  on  the 
Mediterranean,  and  sent  a  letter  by  a  ship  homeward  bound. 
After  that  the  news  came  that  the  vessel  in  which  he  sailed 
•was  found  without  a  soul  on  board,  and  rifled  of  all  its  cargo  ; 
it  was  supposed  that  they  were  all  captured  and  killed,  while 
the  cargo  was  taken  as  plunder.  Since  then  I  have  never 
felt  as  before ;  and  often  from  my  sleep  I  have  been  startled, 
thinking  my  brother  had  come  to  me  again. 

"  But  what  I  began  especially  to  tell  you,"  resumed  Mrs. 
Hale,  brokenly,  amid  her  tears,  "  was  that,  when  I  am  gone, 
and  you  have  recovered  your  health,  in  a  convenient  time  you 
should  go  to  Boston,  and  make  yourself  known  to  your  aunt, 
•who  is  now  the  only  surviving  member  of  my  family.  After 
the  death  of  my  father,  she  received  all  his  estate  (except  one 
dollar,  given  to  disinherit  me),  which,  with  the  property  of 
her  husband,  made  her  the  mistress  of  immense  wealth.  But 
I  have  since  heard  that  her  husband  proved  himself  to  be 
very  unprincipled  and  dissipated,  and  has  made  great  inroads 
upon  their  property.  At  the  time  you  were  obliged  to  enter 
the  factory,  I  wrote  to  her,  stating  our  circumstances,  and 
appealing  to  her  compassion ;  but  no  answer  was  returned. 
A  personal  interview  might  possibly  dispose  her  to  regard  }-ou 
more  favorably  than  she  has  me  in  my  misfortunes ;  but,  if 
she  repulses  you,  don't  be  discouraged,  liemember,  if  you 
trust  in  God,  ha  will  be  more  gracious  t»  you  than  any  earthly 


EDITH     HALE.  131 

friend."  Her  voice  became  weaker,  and  she  was  compelled 
to  pause.  At  length,  summoning  all  her  strength  to  the  effort, 
she  continued  :  "There  is  one  revelation  connected  with  your 
father's  history,  dear  Edith,  which  I  have  delayed  telling  you 
for  obvious  reasons ;  but  now  it  is  best  that  the  secret  should 
not  die  with  me.  Of  this  no  one  in  this  vicinity  is  aware ;  so 
you  need  fear  no  disgrace." 

"  Disgrace ! "  repeated  Edith,  with  surprise,  and  half 
imagining  the  mind  of  her  mother  wandered.  "  What  circum- 
stances connected  with  my  father  can  be  associated  with  that 
word  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  shadow  upon  him  from  his  birth  !  But,  0  ! 
it  fell  not  upon  my  heart,  obscured  no  love  of  mine  !  Your 
father  was  good  and  true  always.  Revere  his  memory,  for  he 
was  worthy  of  your  love  and  reverence.  I  cannot  tell  you 
more  at  this  time,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  Edith's  look  of  inter- 
rogation. "  Xow,  kiss  me  darling  ;  I  am  much  fatigued,  and 
wish  to  sleep  a  while.  Until  I  awake,  you  may  sit  in  the 
next  room,  where  it  is  lighter,  and  more  cheerful." 

As  Edith  kissed  her  mother,  she  was  startled  at  the  chill 
rigidity  of  her  face ;  for  the  room  was  partially  darkened,  and 
she  had  observed  no  change, 

"  Are  you  not  worse,  mother  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Let  me 
call  one  of  the  neighbors." 

"No,  dear;  I  would  rather  be  alone.  I  shall  be  better 
when  I  awake.  One  more  kiss." 

EJith  embraced  her  long  and  fervently,  and,  with  a  sad 
heart,  went  out  and  sat  by  herself.  Presently  she  saw  Sirs. 


132  EDITH     HALE. 

Linn  coming  around  the  yard,  and  approaching  the  door. 
The  old  lady's  black  bonnet  was  never  more  -welcome  to 
Edith's  eyes ;  and,  dropping  her  work,  she  went  out  to  meet 
her. 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  have  come  !  "  Edith  exclaimed,  "  for 
I  was  feeling  unusually  lonely."  And  the  tears  came  to  her 
eyes. 

"  I  have  been  down  into  the  village,"  said  Mrs.  Linn,  "  and 
it  is  so  warm  I  found  I  must  rest  me  before  reaching  home ; 
and  I  wished  to  see  how  your  mother  was  to-day." 

"  Mother  is  not  so  well  this  afternoon ;  she  has  just  gone 
to  sleep.  I  have  felt  very  anxious  about  her,  all  day ;  but  I 
suppose  it  was  because  of  an  unpleasant  dream  last  night," 
Edith  replied.  They  then  talked  of  Mr.  Linn,  and  of  various 
matters,  till  a  half-hour  was  consumed,  when  Mrs.  Linn 
observed  that  she  felt  sufficiently  rested,  and  she  thought  she 
would  leave  for  home. 

"  I  will  go  in  and  see  if  mother  has  not  waked,"  said 
Edith.  "  She  would  regret  not  to  see  you,  it  is  so  seldom  you 
can  come."  But,  scarcely  had  she  entered  her  mother's  room, 
before  she  called  Mrs.  Linn,  in  a  voice  of  alarm. 

"  She  is  so  still  and  pale,  I  am  afraid  she  has  fainted  ! " 
she  said,  hastily  putting  away  the  curtains  to  admit  the  air. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Linn,  after  examining  her  closely,  "  your 
mother  has  not  fainted  ;  she  is  dead  !  " 

"  Dead  !  "  repeated  Edith ;  "  it  is  impossible  !  " 

"  Yes,  dear  Edith,  she  has  gone !     But,  be  consoled  with 


EDITH    HALE.  133 

the  thought  of  the  trouble  she  has  left,  and  the  peace  and  rest 
into  which  she  has  now  entered." 

Edith  was  so  overcome  that  she  sank  down  like  one  stricken 
with  a  heavy  blow.  Her  senses  were  paralyzed  with  grief, 
and  her  heart  wailed  with  a  pain  she  had  never  known  before. 
At  length,  arousing  herself  with  a  strong  effort,  she  took  the 
cold  hand  that  had  so  often  folded  hers,  and  pressed  it  to  her 
lips,  saying  to  herself,  "  0,  how  thankful  I  am  that  I  was 
always  obedient  to  my  mother  !  " 

Precious,  indeed,  was  this  consolation  to  the  orphan  Edith 
now,  which  she  would  not  have  exchanged  for  the  richest 

inheritance,  if  it  were  linked  with  the  thought  that  she  had 

\ 
wounded  her  mother's  heart  with  the  injuries  of  perverseness 

and  ingratitude. 

12 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE   NEW   PRECEPTOR. A    CASE   OF    DESPERATION. 

THE  academy  at  "VVaterbury  had  been  vacated  for  the  last 
quarter,  owing  to  the  illness  and  departure  of  the  preceptor. 
But,  as  the  winter  months  approached,  it  was  announced  by 
the  trustees  that  a  gentleman  of  very  superior  attainments  had 
been  secured,  and  that  the  school  was  about  to  be  reopened 
under  the  most  auspicious  circumstances.  Deacon  Dennis, 
the  acting  member  of  the  board,  had  met  the  future  teacher, 
in  one  of  his  business  visits  to  Boston,  at  the  house  of  a 
mutual  acquaintance.  Having  alluded  incidentally  to  the 
place  of  his  residence,  the  gentleman,  he  said,  seemed  vastly 
interested,  asking  him  a  variety  of  questions  about  the  peo- 
ple ;  and,  coming  at  length  to  the  Pickerings,  he  was  more 
than  ever  minute  in  his  inquiries.  Finally,  on  learning  that 
there  was  an  academy,  he  had  offered  himself  as  the  teacher 
for  one  term. 

"  It  is  most  unaccountable,"  said  the  deacon,  "  why  he 
should  wish  to  leave  his  home  in  Boston  to  teach  in  a  country 
place  in  the  winter  season.  I  was  told  that  he  is  the  only 
son  of  a  very  wealthy  man,  and  has  qualifications  sufficient  t» 


EDITH     HALE.  135 

be  a  professor  in  a  college ;  but,  to  the  surprise  of  his  friends, 
he  seemed  determined  to  come ;  and,  knowing  it  to  be  such 
a  rare  chance  for  us,  I  engaged  him  at  once." 

When  this  intelligence  had  circulated  through  the  village, 
great  was  the  excitement  about  the  new  preceptor  ;  and  many 
young  ladies,  who  had  abandoned  all  thoughts  of  attending 
school  again,  now  remembered  that  there  were  studies  which 
they  would  like  to  pursue  further,  or  to  review  more  thor- 
oughly. Never  before  had  such  a  number  of  pupils  entered 
their  names  for  a  single  term. 

It  was  a  day  of  unusual  interest  that  brought  the  arrival 
of  the  new  teacher ;  and  many  were  the  conjectures  as  to 
what  family  he  would  select  for  his  boarding-place.  Deacon 
Dennis,  Mr.  Pickering,  in  behalf  of  his  wife  and  daughters, 
and  several  other  persons,  solicited  the  honor ;  but  when  the 
stranger  came,  and  was  allowed  his  choice,  he  accepted  the  offer 
of  Mr.  Pickering  without  hesitation,  alleging  as  his  reason  a 
slight  acquaintance  which  existed  between  that  family  and  his 
father. 

On  the  evening  succeeding  his  instalment  in  their  home, 
Mary  came  in  to  her  friend  Edith  in  such  a  state  of  excite- 
ment, that  Edith  was  nearly  alarmed  at  her  appearance. 

"  Is  n't  it  wonderful ! "  exclaimed  Mary,  the  color  deep- 
ening into  beauty  on  her  olive  cheeks,  "  I  have  found  the 
preceptor  is  none  other  than  Horace  Raymond,  whom  I  met  at 
grandfather's,  last  spring !  I  might  have  known  before  that  it 
was  he,  if  I  had  thought  to  inquire  ;  for  I  suppose  our  family 
knaw.  I  thought  I  should  have  fainted  when  I  saw  him  for 


136  EDITH     HALE. 

the  first  time  at  the  tea-table ;  for  I  was  not  asked  to  meet 
him  in  the  parlor  with  the  girls.  Such  a  look  as  he  gave  me 
when  our  eyes  met !  and  he  was  just  about  to  speak,  when 
ma  directed  me,  by  a  glance,  and  a  whisper  from  Julia,  to  go 
out  to  the  kitchen  and  help  Gillis  make  preparations  in  Mr. 
Raymond's  chamber.  I  was  so  delighted,  though,  to  find  it 
was  really  he,  that  I  forgot  my  disappointment,  and  went 
about  so  gladly  that  I  felt  like  walking  in  the  air. 

"  But,  after  tea,  Julia  said  to  me,  '  Moll,  Mr.  Raymond 
says  he  became  acquainted  with  you  at  grandfather's.  We 
were  mortified  to  death  at  the  thought  of  his  getting  an  idea 
of  our  family  from  such  a  countryish,  simple  thing  as  you 
are,  and  we  all  agree  that  you  must  keep  out  of  sight ;  and 
don't  you  come  to  the  table  again  with  us,  while  he  is  here.' 

"  '  I  am  going  to  attend  the  academy  this  term,  I  sup- 
pose ?  '  I  ventured,  with  a  swelling  heart. 

"  '  You,  who  are  not  fit  to  class  with  common-school  chil- 
dren, think  of  going  to  the  academy ! '  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
look  of  disdain. 

"  '  But  I  was  promised  I  might,  if  I  would  go  without  new 
dresses  last  summer,  and  not  let  father  know  about  it,'  said  I, 
feeling  so  badly  I  could  scarcely  keep  from  sobbing  aloud. 

"  '  You  will  not  go,'  she  said,  'so  you  might  as  well  con- 
tent yourself  first  as  last ;  it  would  be  such  a  disgrace  to  us 
to  have  Mr.  Raymond  know  that  we  had  one  in  our  family  so 
awkward  and  stupid  ! ' 

"  I  went  to  my  chamber,  and  cried;  for  it  was  the  severest  dis- 
appointment I  ever  felt,  dear  Edith.  The  prospect  of  attend- 


EDITH     HALE.  137 

ing  school  again  had  beguiled  many  a  sad  hour,  and  more 
especially  did  I  wish  to  go,  now  that  Mr.  Raymond  was  to  be 
our  teacher.  Then  I  thought  of  you,  my  ever  good  friend, 
and  I  stole  out  of  the  back  door,  making  my  way  down  by 
the  garden,  that  my  sisters  might  not  again  be  offended  at  the 
sight  of  me.  And  who  should  I  meet  at  the  garden-gate  but 
father  and  Mr.  Raymond  !  They  were  looking  at  some  rare 
plants  which  father  had  been  protecting  for  the  winter,  and  it 
was  so  nearly  dark,  I  thought  they  would  not  notice  me.  I 
was  hurrying  by,  when  Mr.  Raymond  stepped  forward,  and, 
taking  my  hand  within  both  of  his  own,  spoke  to  me  so 
kindly,  and  looked  down  into  my  face  so  like  himself,  that  I 
was  overcome  with  confusion. 

"  'What !  in  tears,  Mary, when  I  have  just  come?'  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone.  I  was  utterly  beyond  the  power  of  speech ; 
for  the  thought  of  what  Julia  had  just  called  me  was  every 
moment  in  my  mind,  to  oppress  me  with  my  unworthiness. 

"  I  made  a  movement  to  go,  but  he  retained  my  hand,  look- 
ing into  my  eyes  so  searchingly,  just  as  he  can  upon  occasion, 
that,  despite  all  my  efforts  at  control,  I  know  I  must  have 
appeared  very  singularly  to  him. 

"  '  I  shall  see  you  in  my  school,  Mary,  to-morrow,'  he  said. 
I  shook  my  head,  for  I  could  not  reply.  I  think  I  looked  so 
disappointed  he  must  have  guessed  my  thoughts ;  for,  said  he, 
turning  to  father,  '  Is  not  this  daughter,  Mr.  Pickering,  to  be 
one  of  my  pupils  ? ' 

"  '  I  don't  know  as  she  is  sufficiently  advanced,'  replied 
father,  with  hesitation. 
12* 


138  EDITH     HALE. 

"  '  I  am  somewhat  acquainted  with  her  mind,'  said  Mr. 
Raymond,  '  and  I  shall  regret  that  I  ever  came  to  Waterbury 
if  I  am  not  to  have  the  pleasure  of  assisting  her  to  progress 
in  her  studies.' 

"  '  I  think  she  may  go,  then,'  said  father. 

"  '  Certainly,'  said  Mr.  Raymond  ;  '  I  shall  depend  on  her 
constant  attendance.' 

"  I  hurried  away,  only  too  joyful  at  my  changed  prospect. 
And,  now,  dear  Edith,"  concluded  Mary,  "  I  am  going  to 
make  such  an  effort  to  get  along  in  my  studies,  and  to  conceal 
my  ignorance  as  much  as  possible  ;  for  I  should  be  so  morti- 
fied to  have  Julia's  words  about  my  disgracing  the  family 
prove  true ! " 

"  Do  not  be  too  anxious  upon  that  point,"  said  Edith, 
smiling.  "  I  predict  that  you  will  be  the  last  of  your  family 
to  do  that.  I  will  assist  you  in  whatever  way  it  is  possible 
for  me  ;  and,  with  such  a  vigorous  determination  to  improve, 
you  cannot  fail  of  success." 

"  Dear  me  !  if  I  only  knew  as  much  as  my  sisters  !  "  said 
Mary,  regretfully. 

"  I  would  rather  you  would  be  as  you  are,"  rejoined  Edith. 
"  But  what  studies  do  you  propose  to  take,  this  term  ?  " 

The  two  girls  sat  together,  and  discussed  all  their  plans,  till 
late  that  evening,  imagining  many  beautiful  fabrics  of  wis- 
dom which  were  to  be  woven  in  the  golden  hours  of  the  future ; 
and  both  were  more  hopeful  than  ever  before. 

"  I  saw  Mr.  Wellmont  to-day,"  said  Edith,  as  Mary  was 
about  to  leave  her,  "  and  he  seemed  remarkably  sad  and  ab- 


EDITH     HALE.  139 

stracted.  Bat  he  spoke  to  me  so  kindly  of  my  lost  mother, 
and  the  home  of  the  blessed  who  die  in  the  Lord,  that  I  was 
consoled  more  than  ever  since  her  death." 

She  did  not  tell  Mary  that  his  manner  was  changed  to  a 
melancholy  reserve,  which  seemed  entirely  foreign  to  his  nature, 
and  the  cause  of  which  she  could  not  divine ;  that,  when  he  was 
about  to  turn  away,  he  held  her  hand  so  much  longer  than  was 
necessary,  and  wore  such  a  look  of  pain,  then  left  her  so 
abruptly,  that  she  was  startled ;  —  and  that  his  sorrowful  face 
had  haunted  her  memory  since.  These  were  thoughts  which 
Edith  could  not  impart  to  her  friend. 

After  the  death  of  her  mother,  Edith  seemed  to  acquire  new 
strength,  and  maturity  of  character,  with  which  to  meet  the 
exigencies  of  life.  The  tribulation  through  which  she  had 
been  brought  had  wrought  out  for  her  that  "  patience,"  "  ex- 
perience," and  "  hope,"  which  are  the  result  of  no  other  earthly 
refining.  And,  perhaps,  too,  the  blessing  of  Him,  who  has 
promised  to  be  a  father  to  the  orphan,  was  more  richly  than 
ever  her  support  and  resource.  She  was  determined,  by 
the  grace  of  God,  to  go  forward  in  the  strife  of  the  world, 
and,  if  possible,  win  for  herself  a  place  which  should  the 
more  nearly  correspond  with  the  yearning  aspirations  of  her 
nature. 

And  now  she  entered  upon  her  new  pupilage  with  the  ardor 
of  her  energetic  spirit,  sparing  herself  no  effort,  no  sacrifice 
of  which  her  health  was  capable.  Within  the  first  week,  the 
school  became  so  numerous,  and  the  consequent  duties  multi- 
plied so  rapidly,  that  Mr.  Raymond  found  it  necessary  to  call 


140  EDITH     HALE. 

upon  the  trustees  for  an  assistant.  As  it  was  desirable  to 
select  one  from  among  the  pupils,  he  waited  cautiously  to 
ascertain  which  one  of  all  the  school  was  the  most  capable 
and  suitable  every  way.  He  finally  made  choice  of  Edith 
for  the  situation.  To  this  the  trustees  strongly  objected  at 
once. 

"  That  will  never  do,"  said  they ;  "  our  children  must 
not  come  under  a  girl  like  her ;  for  she  cannot  be  qualified  to 
assist  in  their  instruction." 

"  I  speak  advisedly,"  rejoined  Mr.  Raymond  ;  "  and  it  were 
better  if  all  were  as  well  qualified  as  Miss  Hale.  I  have 
watched  her  carefully;  I  have  compared  her  with  other 
pupils ;  and  I  am  certain  she  is  thoroughly  versed  in  many 
of  the  studies  here  taught ;  and  her  acquirements,  united  with 
her  grace  and  dignity  of  manner,  render  her  fitted  for  what 
we  require." 

The  trustees  demurred  some  time  ;  but  they  saw  the  deci- 
sion of  the  man  with  whom  they  now  dealt ;  they  felt  his 
superiority  of  judgment  in  such  a  matter,  and  they  durst  not 
venture  to  remonstrate  further. 

Edith  did  not  accept  the  situation  without  great  reluctance, 
for  she  feared  that  a  majority  of  the  school  would  be  offended; 
which,  in  fact,  proved  to  be  the  case  ;  and  many  would  have 
left,  with  a  keen  sense  of  outraged  dignity,  had  they  not  become 
too  much  interested  in  the  new  teacher  to  willingly  forego  the 
privileges  of  attending  upon  his  instruction.  Besides,  the 
school  was  decidedly  the  fashion,  and  the  malecontcnts  could 
not  well  be  out  of  it  without  loss  in  various  ways. 


EDITH     HALE.  141 

Mrs.  Pickering,  soon  understanding  the  strict  principles 
of  Mr.  Raymond,  concerning  the  duty  of  justice  toward 
all,  in  domestic  as  well  as  public  life,  as  a  matter  of 
policy  so  far  relaxed  her  severity  toward  Mary  as  to  permit 
her  to  sit  with  the  family  at  the  table  ;  although,  if  she  had 
not  been  allowed  to  go  to  the  academy  by  her  father,  who  had 
carried  his  point,  for  once,  under  the  influence  of  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, this  concession  never  would  have,  been  made.  But  the 
sisters  would  not  hear  of  her  being  introduced  into  the  parlor 
with  themselves  and  their  companions ;  and,  whenever  Mary 
was  inquired  for,  they  gave  out  that  she  did  not  like  society  — 
she  was  so  very  bashful,  and  they  really  could  not  tell  whether 
they  should  ever  persuade  her  to  do  like  other  folks. 

Julia  was  very  much  interested  in  the  new  preceptor ;  and, 
as  he  seemed  to  have  an  interest  in  their  family,  she  soon  in- 
dulged hopes  of  winning  his  particular  regard.  Tndeed,  he 
would  have  been  besieged  unmercifully,  had  not  Celeste  at 
that  time  been  violently  in  love  with  a  gentleman  whom  she 
had  met  on  a  visit  in  a  neighboring  town ;  having  found,  at 
last,  a  hero  quite  equal,  she  deemed,  to  any  of  the  heroes  of 
the  myriad  novels  she  had  read.  Claudine  had  recently 
become  engaged  to  the  young  man  whose  picture  so  much 
annoyed  Mr.  Solomon  Acre,  upon  his  introduction  into  her 
studio,  in  company  with  Mr.  Wellmont. 

The  intelligence  of  Claudine's  engagement  reaching  Mr. 
Solomon,  he  took  occasion  to  ask  counsel  of  Mr.  Wellmont, 
at  the  earliest  opportunity.  Announcing  that  he  had  come  to 
talk  upon  "  a  very  important  subject,  involving  the  problem 


142  EDITH     HALE. 

of  his  destiny,"  his  pastor  expressed  his  satisfaction  that  his 
attention  had  become  more  firmly  fixed  upon  religious  subjects. 
"  I  don't  exactly  refer  to  that  at  present,"  said  Mr. 
Solomon.  "  I  am  suffering  unler  an  affliction,  and  I  come  to 
you  for  consolation ;  though,  in  fact,  I  am  past  all  consolation , 
and,  now  I  think  of  it,  I  wish  I  had  remained  away,  for, 

as  the  poet  says, 

'  A  malady 

Preys  on  my  heart,  that  medicine  cannot  reach  — 
Invisible  and  cureless.'  " 

"  However,  he  has  not  forgotten,  in  his  grief,  whatever  it 
be,  what  '  the  poet  says,' "  thought  Mr.  Wellmont.  It  was 
some  time  before  he  could  ascertain  the  nature  of  Mr.  Sol- 
omon's affliction,  for  he  seemed  quite  at  fault  to  express 
himself  intelligibly.  At  length,  out  of  many  disjointed  frag- 
ments, he  put  together  the  whole  fact  that  the  engagement 
of  Claudine  Pickering  conflicted  so  much  with  his  own 
long-cherished  plans  in  relation  to  that  young  lady,  that 
he  was  now  experiencing  the  severest  disappointment  of  his 
life. 

"  It  is  a  case  about  which  I  am  scarcely  fitted  to  advise," 
said  Mr.  Wellmont.  "  I  remember  reading  some  excellent 
maxims  touching  disappointed  affection.  Terentius  said,  on  a 
similar  occasion,  '  From  henceforth  I  blot  out  of  my  memory 
all  thoughts  of  womankind,  and  —  " 

"  Stay  !  "  interrupted  Mr.  Solomon ;  "  maxims  can  do  me 
no  good.  You  might  as  well  repeat  to  a  dying  sinner  a 


EDITII     HALE.  143 

passage  upon  the  doctrine  'of  election,  or  to  a  drowning  man 
some  of  the  laws  of  hydrodynamics.  I  am  past  maxims !  " 

"Have  you  fully  avowed  your  affection  to  Miss  Pick- 
ering, and  she  is  aware  of  the  suffering  she  now  inflicts  ? " 
inquired  Mr.  Wellmont,  desirous  of  touching  some  available 
point. 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Solomon  ;  "  and  that  is  what  makes 
me  inconsolable.  I  delayed  talking  with  her  closely  upon 
the  subject,  inferring  she  understood  my  sentiments  towards 
her  as  well  as  I  did  myself.  I  was  there  to  see  her,  evening 
after  evening;  talked,  played,  and  rode  with  her,  and  she 
might  have  known  to  what  all  my  attentions  tended." 

"  Not  if  you  did  not  explicitly  tell  her.  Perhaps  she  grew 
impatient,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  And  for  neglecting  that  one  all-important  question,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Solomon,  "  I  have  got  to  be  a  miserable  victim 
all  my  life  !  But  I  '11  shorten  it  —  I  shan't  suffer  long,"  he 
added,  looking  fierce  and  unnatural. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  interposed  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  let  me 
entreat  you  not  to  threaten  such  a  sinful  deed  as  self- 
destruction.  Consider,  for  a  moment,  the  awful  significance 
of  your  words." 

Mr.  Solomon  lifted  his  hands  tragically,  as  he  exclaimed, 

"  '  0,  that  this  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  melt, 
Thaw,  and  resolve  itself  into  a  dew  ! 
Or  that  the  Everlasting  had  not  fixed 
His  canon  'gainst  self-slaughter  ! ' 

"  I  had  an  uncle,"  he  continued,  "  who  was  disappointed 


144  EDITH     HALE. 

in  love,  and  he  has  done  all  manner  of  ridiculous  things  ;  but 
I  shan't  make  myself  a  fool  brooding  over  trouble." 

"  Rather,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  determine  to  arise  and 
go  forth  into  the  world,  where  you  may  win  a  place  among 
men  which  shall  compensate  for  the  slight  loss  you  now 
sustain." 

"  Sir  !  slight  loss  do  you  call  the  loss  of  my  whole  heart, 
without  hope  of  receiving  another  in  exchange  ?  " 

"  Doubtless  the  loss  seems  great  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Well- 
inont ;  "  but  it  may  prove  the  foundation  of  incalculable 
gain.  Some  of  our  greatest  men,  in  their  early  lives,  were  dis- 
appointed in  love ;  to  which  circumstance  they  afterwards 
attributed  the  impetus  of  their  subsequent  rapid  elevation 
to  positions  of  power  and  influence.  Let  me  advise  you,  my 
friend,  to  leave  this  place  immediately,  and  go  where  you 
will  have  no  associations  to  recall  your  present  pain."  Mr. 
Solomon  shook  his  head.  "  You.  have  few  ties  to  bind  you 
here,"  continued  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  and  new  scenes  will  take 
your  attention  away  from  yourself,  which  is  what  you  now 
require.  Seek  some  distant  place  for  your  home,  from  which 
I  shall  expect  to  hear,  in  time,  the  most  honorable  tidings  of 
your  success  and  advancement  in  life.  In  fact,  from  the  time 
of  my  early  acquaintance  with  you,  Mr.  Acre,  I  have  thought 
you  fitted  for  a  sphere  more  enlarged  than  you  had  pre- 
scribed for  yourself  here.  You  have  talents  that  have  never 
been  summoned  to  the  active  conflict  of  life,  and  they  have 
slumbered  too  long  in  the  haunts  of  ease.  What  you  may 
yet  become,  by  devoting  all  your  energies,  in  the  fulness  of 


EDITH     HALE.  145 

their  power,  to  the  highest  and  truest  purposes  of  life,  you 
have  not  dreamed.  Too  long  have  you  been  content  with 
gathering  flowers  in  the  shady  vales ;  you  have  forest-trees 
of  oak  yet  to  hew  in  your  way ;  you  have  torrents  to 
stem;  sublime  heights  to  climb,  on  whose  summits  you 
shall  proudly  stand  and  bless  God  for  the  circumstance 
that  sent  you  forth, —  ay,  drove  you  as  with  a  whip  of 
knotted  cords,  —  girded  with  a  new  and  strong  panoply 
with  which  to  battle  with  life,  and  finally  become  victorious. 
Yes,  you  will  one  day  look  back  to  this  time  as  the  most 
fortunate  of  your  life." 

"  Spare  me  !  spare  me  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Solomon,  with  a 
look  of  deprecation. 

"  I  must  tell  you,  freely,  my  friend,  what  I  think ;  for  I 
really  feel  no  little  interest  in  your  welfare.  I  recall  what 
Sylla,  the  dictator,  said  of  Caesar,  when  he  was  nothing  but  a 
'  slipshod  boy  : '  'In  him  lies  couchant  many  a  Marius  ! ' 
Although  this  may  not  be  fully  applicable  in  your  case,  it  is 
in  part.  In  you,  as  I  have  said,  lie  dormant  faculties  which 
may  prove  the  elements  of  a  true  man.  There  is  nothing 
more  foolish  than  to  think  one  must  become  a  fool  because  of 
anything  so  trifling  as  a  disappointment  of  the  heart.  We 
must  learn  to  discipline  our  hearts  to  trial  and  sacrifice  of  all 
kinds." 

"  Ah  !  it  is  easier  for  one  to  preach  who  has  never  expe- 
rienced, than  to  practise  afterward,"  said  Mr.  Solomon. 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  that  is  true  ;  but  I  know 
of  what  I  speak.  '  If  thy  right  hand  offend  thee,  cut  it  off 
13 


146  EDITH    HALE. 

and  cast  it  from  thee ;  for  it  is  profitable  for  thee  that  one  of 
thy  members  should  perish,  and  not  that  thy  whole  body 
should  be  cast  into  hell.'  It  will  be  incomputably  more 
profitable  for  you  to  make  this  one  sacrifice  of  your  affec- 
tions manfully,  rather  than  to  commit  such  a  rash,  sinful  act 
as  to  destroy  your  whole  life  by  a  single  blow,  or  by  becoming 
a  living  spectacle  of  a  mind  destroyed,  which  is  even  worse 
than  death. 

<;  I  have  now  fresh  in  my  memory  an  example  of  this  : 
The  other  night,  before  the  first  snow-storm  of  the  season, 
I  was  walking  home  from  a  visit  to  one  of  my  parish- 
ioners, congratulating  myself  upon  the  cheerful  prospect 
which  awaited  me  within  my  comfortable  rooms,  —  for, 
as  you  remember,  the  appearance  of  the  earth  was  com- 
pletely sad  and  desolate;  the  winds  were  howling  mourn- 
fully and  searchingly  from  the  intervals  between  the  bleak 
hills,  bringing  that  peculiar  chilling  sensation  which  ushers 
in  a  storm ;  large  flakes  of  snow  were  occasionally  dropping 
from  the  dreary  sky,  and  the  darkness  was  coming  thickly  on, — 
when  I  saw  approaching  slowly  a  figure  which  I  could  not  at 
first  determine  whether  it  were  animal  or  human.  As  I  rapidly 
advanced,  I  perceived  it  was  a  man  in  a  miserable  attire,  and, 
altogether,  one  of  the  most  wretched-looking  objects  I  ever 
saw.  His  outer  garment,  which  was  intended  for  a  coat,  was 
composed  of  patches  of  various  shapes  and  hues,  terminating 
in  tatters  which  hung  to  his  heels ;  his  hands  were  clasped 
behind  him,  holding  a  small  bundle  tied  with  many  strings, 
and  from  his  neck  hung  a  kind  of  apron  which  once  might 


EDITH     HALE.  147 

have  been  white,  the  effect  of  which  was  certainly  grotesque  at 
first  view.  Upon  this  garment  had  been  painted,  in  some  way, 
the  most  singular  caricatures  of  men,  women,  and  animals, 
around  a  centre,  in  which  was  the  head  of  a  woman,  radiating 
certain  yellow  lines,  intended  to  represent  the  rays  of  the 
sun. 

"  I  spoke  to  him.  He  had  not,  seemingly,  noticed  me 
before,  but  now  raised  his  head  and  discovered  a  face  on  which 
was  the  impression  of  unmitigated  misery ;  his  eye  was  dark, 
but  sunken  and  hopeless  in  expression,  and  his  beard  had 
grown  till  it  lay  upon  his  breast.  '  Have  you  any  tobacco, 
sir  ?  '  he  inquired.  Little  anticipating  such  a  rejoinder  to  my 
address,  I  was  thrown  off  rny  guard  for  an  instant,  and  prob- 
ably betrayed  my  astonishment.  '  Have  you  any  tobacco  ?  ' 
he  repeated,  sternly.  I  replied  that  I  had  none.  '  Not  even 
a  little  ?  '  he  pursued.  '  No  ! '  '  Then  I  must  soon  perish,' 
he  said,  bowing  his  head  again  upon  his  bosom.  '  I  have  asked 
everybody,  for  a  long  way  back,  and  have  got  none  yet ;  I 
can't  go  much  longer  without.'  '  Don't  you  know  that  tobacco 
is  vile  stuff,  and  is  the  only  thing  that  will  poison  a  crocodile  ?  ' 
'  It  cures  me  of  all  ills,'  he  returned,  meekly.  I  glanced 
about  to  devise  some  expedient  for  his  succor,  and,  perceiving 
we  were  nearest  to  the  house  of  Father  Shaw  by  the  back 
road,  I  bade  him  follow  me,  and  I  would  show  him  where  he 
could  get  something  better  than  tobacco.  He  followed  me 
listlessly,  and  I  soon  brought  him  within  Miss  Leah's  com- 
fortable kitchen,  which  was  savory  with  the  pleasant  odors  of 
a  good,  substantial  winter  supper.  Miss  Leah  was  consider- 


148  EDITH     II  A  L  E  . 

ably  surprised  at  first,  and  demurred  somewhat  about  receiving 
suck  an  object ;  but  I  stated  the  case  so  piteously,  that  the  nat- 
ural kindness  of  her  heart  became  enlisted,  and  I  knew  I  had 
brought  my  protege  to  safe  quarters.  Father  Shaw  came  in, 
and  began  to  investigate  matters  at  once.  '  What  on  airth 
do  ye  wear  such  a  bad-looking  apron  as  that  for  ? '  he  asked. 
'  It 's  my  phylactery,  and  it  keeps  off  the  evil  eye,'  replied  the 
man,  solemnly.  '  Your  what  ?  I  should  think  't  was  your 
factory  where  yer  'd  manufactured  all  the  dragons  and  devils 
that  is  telled  on  in  Revelations.  And  is  that  are  the  mother 
of  abominations,  in  the  middle  of  all  them  things  ? ' 

"  '  Speak  low,'  said  the  poor  man  ;  '  that  is  my  lady-love, 
and  I  've  made  a  vow  to  wear  her  on  my  heart  till  the  resur- 
rection, when  God  shall  come  with  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus 
and  bring  us  all  to  judgment.'  However  this  may  seem  in 
the  relation,  he  wore  such  an  an  air  of  dejection,  and  spoke 
so  sadly,  the  tears  came  to  my  eyes,  despite  myself,  and  I 
exclaimed  inwardly,  '  Who  has  made  us  to  differ  ?  ' 

" '  Been  crossed  in  love,  I  guess,'  said  Father  Shaw  to  me. 
'  Yes,  yes,'  responded  the  hapless  stranger ;  '  't  was  all  a 
cross.  She  was  cross,  her  father  was  cross,  and  it  came 
across  me  without  even  a  cross-bill,  till  I  crossed  over  the 
legal  bonds,  and  have  wandered  up  and  down  cross-roads  ever 
since,  cross-questioned  and  cross-examined  by  all  I  meet.' 
'  Thankful  am  I,'  said  Miss  Leah,  '  that  I  was  never  in  love  ;' 
and  she  bestirred  herself  about  the  table  in  a  manner  that 
indicated  a  thirst  for  justice  from  some  quarter.  A  cup  of 
warm  tea  and  some  food  revived  the  poor  creature  consid- 


EDITH     HALE.  149 

erably.  «  There  ! '  said  he,  at  length,  raising  the  teaspoon  by 
way  of  emphasis,  '  you  all  conclude  —  that  is,  you  come  to 
the  conclusion  according  to  the  statutes  —  that  I  was  always 
just  what  I  am  now.  But  no  !  Great  God  !  thou  knowest 
what  I  was,  what  I  am,  what  I  shall  be !  I  know,  too, 
that  I  was  once  a  man ;  now  I  am  a  fool ;  some  day  I  shall 
be  an  angel  or  devil,  I  can't  say  legally  which.'  He  then 
commenced  singing  a  love-song,  in  a  tone  more  suggestive  of 
melancholy  than  the  most  plaintive  dirge.  I  could  not  endure 
it,  and  I  left  him  with  Father  Shaw,  who  said  he  would 
take  care  of  him  that  night,  and  give  him  a  warm  coat  in  the 
morning,  with  some  stout  boots." 

During  this  recital  Mr.  Solomon  had  paid  profound  atten- 
tion, and  several  times  had  started  in  his  chair,  as  if  about 
to  interrogate  Mr.  Wellmont.  He  now  arose  to  his  feet,  and, 
in  a  tone  of  suppressed  anxiety,  said, 

"  Did  that  man  give  you  his  name?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  "Wellmont,  "  I  did  not  inquire.  Father 
Shaw  might  have  learned,  however." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  know  who  it  was.  The  description  tallies 
exactly.  The  apron  —  the  language  —  the  eye  —  all  belong 
to  no  one  else.  It  was  my  uncle  !  " 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  Yes ;  and,  merciful  Heavens !  what  a  sinner  I  am  to  have 
closed  my  eyes  upon  him  all  this  time  !  I  have  despised  and 
made  merry  about  him,  when  I  have  thought  of  him  hitherto. 
I  have  called  him  impatiently  a  poor  wretch,  because  he  made 
himself  such  a  victim  to  a  woman.  Xow,  I  am  brought  to 
13* 


150  EDITH     HALE. 

know  something  of  his  trial  myself.  Can  you  believe,  Mr. 
Wellmont,"  he  continued,  "  that  that  object  of  charity  and 
compassion  was  once  a  capable,  intelligent,  and  highly-respected 

citizen  of  the  city  of  H ,  doing  a  good  business  as  a  young 

lawyer,  and  giving  promise  of  becoming  one  of  the  first  men 
in  the  state  ?  My  grandfather  had  but  two  sons.  The  eldest 
was  my  father,  who  settled  as  a  merchant  in  a  country  village ; 
but  upon  his  death,  which  occurred  shortly  after  that  of  my 
mother,  I  was  placed  in  charge  of  my  maternal  uncle,  Deacon 
Goodwin,  of  this  place.  My  uncle  Frederic  was  liberally 
educated,  and  progressed  rapidly  in  his  career,  until  an 
engagement  existing  between  him  and  a  daughter  of  one  of  the 
first  families  in  the  city  of  his  residence  was  broken,  the 
reason  of  which  I  never  clearly  learned.  My  uncle  took  the 
affair  heavily  to  heart,  and  gradually  fell  off  from  his  business, 
until  he  became  deranged.  -He  was  taken  to  the  hospital  for 
the  insane,  but,  escaping  several  times,  he  was  at  length  put  in 
charge  of  a  family  connection,  and  I  suppose  he  is  allowed  to 
wander  about  as  he  wills,  to  save  trouble  and  expense ;  for 
the  bank  in  which  most  of  his  property  was  invested  failed,  a 
few  years  since.  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have  neglected  looking 
into  the  matter,  and  I  fear  he  has  suffered  from  my  unkind 
omission." 

"  You  have  thus  been  brought  most  providentially  to  see 
your  duty,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  and  I  trust  it  will  not  be 
in  vain.  God  has  afflicted  you  that  you  might  have  pity  for 
the  afflictions  of  others;  and,  instead  of  rebelliously  giving 
yourself  to  a  fate  like  that  of  your  uncle,  I  trust  you  will 


EDITH     HALE.  151 

try  to  elevate  not  only  yourself,  but  others,  and  so  merit 
the  richest  blessings  Heaven  ever  bestowed  upon  mortals." 

"  Yes !  "  said  Mr.  Solomon,  reflectively ;  "  one  fool  in  the 
family  is  enough,  without  another  of  the  same  sort.  I  will 
try  to  do  what  I  can  for  myself  and  him.  I  know  one  thing  — 
I  shall  always  feel  more  comfortable  in  the  thought  that  it  is 
I  who  am  the  injured.  If  I  had  encouraged  her  to  think  I 
loved  her,  and  then,  after  winning  her  affections,  had  left  her 
to  bear  her  disappointment  alone,  I  should  think  torment  was 
too  good  for  me ;  for  it  is  a  thousand  times  worse  for  a  man 
to  treat  a  poor,  defenceless,  delicate  woman  ill,  than  for  a 
woman  to  turn  against  a  man.  The  weaker  sex  have  n't  so 
much  self-reliance,  I  suppose,  as  we  have." 

It  was  now  Mr.  Wellniont's  turn  to  pale  and  flush  with 
secret  emotion.  These  words,  unwittingly  spoken,  touched  a 
chord  of  his  heart  that  vibrated  with  a  keen  remorse.  He 
knew,  though  others  did  not,  that  he  had  taught  Edith 
to  think  he  loved  her ;  he  had  loved  her  in  truth,  he  loved  her 
Btill ;  and  yet  upon  the  writing-desk  before  him  was  a  letter 
just  written  to  another,  in  which  he  had  asked  to  have  the  time 
of  his  marriage  appointed.  He  had  made  a  great  sacrifice  ; 
but  the  question  could  not  be  waived  —  "  Had  God  required 
that  sacrifice,  or  had  his  own  pride,  and  the  pride  of  the  world 
in  which  he  moved  ?  " 


CHAPTER    X. 

DISAPPOINTMENT. 

HORACE  RAYMOND  was  one  of  those  instructors  who  have  the 
tact  of  infusing  a  vital,  expanding  interest  among  their  pupils. 
Under  his  tuition  and  training,  the  dullest  gradually  awoke 
into  new  light,  and  those  who  were  predisposed  to  be  ambi- 
tious became  eager  and  untiring  aspirants  for  excellence.  He 
was  like  a  successful  general,  who,  by  a  few  magnetic  words, 
arouses  his  soldiers  to  do  and  to  dare  to  the  utmost  limits. 
He  excelled,  because  he  was  a  master ;  he  succeeded,  because 
he  made  no  rules  which  applied  indiscriminately  to  all.  His 
principle  was  that  no  two  pupils  must  be  subjected  to  precisely 
the  same  treatment,  for  the  simple  reason  that  no  two  minds 
are  organized  upon  the  same  scale,  or  endowed  with  the  same 
capabilities,  and,  therefore,  must  not  be  supposed  able  to 
receive  and  give  ideas  in  the  same  ratio.  Even  in  the  case 
of  some  who  did  not  equal  their  class-mates  by  reason 
of  negligence,  -he  made  secret  allowance  for  the  natural 
temperament,  which,  perhaps,  was  sluggish  or  weak,  and, 
consequently,  unable  to  accomplish  that  amount  of  labor 
which  could  be  performed  by  another  of  more  active  and 


EDITH     HALE.  153 

and  powerful  faculties.  But  none  were  left  to  their  own 
errors.  His  grand  watchword,  Industry,  must  be  responded 
to  by  every  pupil.  He  believed  and  taught  that  patient  labor 
would  accomplish  the  most  surprising  results.  The  words  of 
Sallust,  that  "  Men  want  industry  more  than  time  or  abilities," 
he  often  repeated  to  his  pupils. 

A  new  world  of  hope  and  effort  was  thus  opened  to  Mary 
Pickering,  who  had  so  long  been  neglected,  and  taught  to 
believe  herself  inferior.  Her  previous  education  having 
been  almost  entirely  derived  from  solitary  reading,  her  first 
efforts  which  required  action  upon  her  independent  judg- 
ment were  crude  and  discouraging.  With  every  hindrance 
she  was  ready  to  believe  that  all  the  assertions  of  her  ignor- 
ance and  incapacity  were  truths ;  and,  perhaps,  would  have 
faltered  and  stopped  by  the  way,  had  it  not  been  for  the  influ- 
ence of  her  teacher. 

"  Never  be  disheartened  at  failures,"  said  he ;  "  for  it 
is  our  failures  that  at  last  bring  us  above  mediocrity.  They 
stand  out  along  our  way  as  statucd  contrasts  to  our  successes. 
No  man  who  has  attained  a  degree  of  perfection,  in  whatever 
art,  can  look  back  upon  his  course,  and  not  discover  that  his 
errors,  by  the  very  mortification  and  patience  and  hard 
discipline  they  summoned  to  their  correction,  served  the  most 
effectually  to  advance  him  toward  the  grand  result.  Little 
can  we  see  from  the  single  germ  what  shall  be  the  product ! 
Who  would  have  once  predicted  from  the  wild  brier  all  the 
beautiful  varieties  of  the  rose  ;  from  the  common  almond-tree, 
the  delicious  peaches  and  nectarines ;  from  the  black  thorn, 


154  EDITH     HALE. 

the  royal  products  of  the  plum ;  from  the  crabs  and  wildings, 
the  staple  luxury  of  apples  of  every  flavor  ?  Who  that  now 
beholds  upon  the  walls  of  a  library  in  Sienna  some  straight, 
stiff,  Gothic  figures  in  fresco,  which  are  the  earliest  works  of 
Raphael,  is  not  impressed  with  man's  capacity  for  improve- 
ment, when  he  contrasts  these  with  the  artist's  glorious  master- 
pieces of  St.  John  in  the  Desert,  the  Madonna  dclla  Sedia,  the 
Martyrdom  of  St.  Stephen,  or  the  Transfiguration !  " 

These  words  were  not  without  their  effect.  They  fell  upon 
the  minds  of  his  pupils  with  a  power  which  was  wholty  irre- 
sistible. 

During  the  few  months  of  his  residence  among  them,  he 
produced  a  thorough  revolution ;  but  in  none  was  this  more 
evident  than  in  the  mind  of  Mary  Pickering.  Edith  was 
faithful  in  her  assistance,  and  Mary  constant  in  her  efforts, 
and  she  gradually  progressed  at  a  rate  which  astonished 
even  herself.  The  amount  of  knowledge  she  had  acquired 
from  reading,  by  a  course  of  systematic  discipline  soon 
came  into  exercise,  and  assisted  her  so  largely,  that  she  was 
enabled  to  overtake  and  outstrip  many  who  commenced  seem- 
ingly in  her  advance. 

At  the  close  of  the  term,  a  day  was  devoted  to  the  public 
exhibition  of  the  exercises  of  the  academy ;  and  a  day  of  unu- 
sual interest  it  was  to  the  people  of  AVaterbury,  and  to  repre- 
sentatives of  many  places  and  schools  in  the  vicinity.  Several 
members  of  the  clergy  were  present,  especially  invited  by  Mr. 
Wellmont,  who  from  the  first  had  interested  himself  in  the 
school,  and  upon  his  first  acquaintance  had  been  friendly  to 


EDITH     HALE.  155 

Mr.  Raymond.  Indeed,  tho  intelligent  teacher  had  won 
friends  from  almost  every  family  in  the  place.  Even  Father 
Shaw,  who  was  prone  to  look  with  suspicion  upon  young  men 
who  "  set  themselves  up  to  teach  others,"  especially  if  they 
came  with  such  high  recommendations  as  did  Horace  Raymond, 
came  at  last  to  like  him ;  and  Miss  Leah  was  heard  to  say 
that  she  should  think  he  would  be  a  minister,  for  he  had 
too  much  sense  in  his  head  to  be  anything  less.  In  the  after- 
noon the  large  hall  was  packed  densely  with  curious  spectators : 
for  the  business  men  of  the  village  had  been  allured  from  their 
usual  places ;  the  young  men  came  as  a  matter  of  course 
where  so  many  interesting  girls  were  assigned  a  part  in  the 
exercises ;  and  a  large  class  of  ladies,  not  strictly  interested  in 
book  matters,  came  because  there  was  much  to  see,  and  it  was 
fashionable  to  be  there.  This  pleasant  assemblage  of  parents 
and  friends  spoke  favorably  for  the  place,  indicating  that  there 
was  a  great  degree  of  cooperation  with  intellectual  pursuits. 

The  exercises  proceeded  with  increasing  interest,  notwith- 
standing, as  is  usual  in  such  cases,  several  who  had  devised 
great  things  for  themselves  were  chagrined  at  the  calm  but 
cert?  in  triumph  of  others  whom  they  had  previously  regarded 
as  iheir  inferiors ;  for  Mr.  Raymond  had  unusual  skill 
in  a-sisting  the  diffident  and  unassuming  to  bring  out  the 
full  extent  of  their  resources.  Julia  Pickering  and  Mary 
furnish  an  instance  in  point.  Julia  possessed  no  depth  of 
character,  and  had  always  been  a  superficial  scholar,  really 
knowing  very  little  of  what  she  professed  to  know ;  and  in 
such  an  emergency  as  this  came  off  but  poorly,  with  only  the 


156  EDITH     HALE. 

merit  of  reciting  the  words  of  the  author,  being  at  a  total  loss 
when  questioned  by  the  committee  for  examination.  But 
Mary  answered  with  a  real  appreciation  of  the  subject,  and 
betrayed  a  depth  of  reflection  which  attracted  the  attention 
of  all.  Several  topics  which  Julia  had  failed  to  explain,  or 
had  treated  in  such  a  mistaken  way  as  to  excite  compassion 
for  her  ignorance,  had  been  given  to  Mary,  who  replied  intel- 
ligently and  fully,  quite  unconscious,  apparently,  of  the  admi- 
ration she  thus  gained. 

Even  to  the  very  few  who  most  loved  her,  it  seemed  she 
had  never  looked  before  as  on  this  occasion;  and  to  those  who 
regarded  her  with  dislike  her  new  appearance  was  a  marvel. 
Her  dark  eyes  were  beaming  with  pleasurable  emotion ;  her 
clear,  olive  complexion  was  deepened  into  rare  beauty ;  and 
her  finely-shaped  head  was  bound  with  shining,  heavy  masses 
of  her  brown  hair,  witaout  ornament.  Her  figure  was  erect, 
slender,  and  graceful,  and  there  was  a  charm  about  her  manner 
so  naive  and  appealing  to  affection,  as  if  almost  doubtful  of 
her  claim,  that  was  much  more  winning  than  the  most  piquant, 
assured  airs  of  her  sister.  She  was  attired  with  great  sim- 
plicity, even  homeliness ;  but  it  made  no  difference  —  no  one 
cared  to  look  at  her  di-ess. 

In  the  most  advanced  classes,  and  especially  in  the  lan- 
guages, Edith  bore  the  palm  of  excellence  from  many  who 
were  older  and  of  far  higher  pretensions  than  herself.  Her 
own  classes  who  had  received  her  instruction  gave  her  much 
credit.  The  pallor  of  her  face  contrasted  strikingly  with  her 
mourning  dress ;  but  how  sweet,  though  sad,  was  her  voice !  — 


EDITH     HALE.  157 

the  voice  never  heard  by  Mr.  Wellmont  without  reminding  him 
of  loveliness  and  of  heaven !  Thenceforth  it  was  to  him  as  a 
threnody  for  something  lost.  Her  beauty,  always  undisputed, 
was  on  this  occasion  heightened  by  her  sadness  and  statuesque 
tranquillity ;  and,  when  excitement  had  summoned  blushes  to 
her  cheek,  it  rivalled  a  snow-wreath  in  the  glow  of  sunset. 

Among  the  latest  of  the  exercises  was  a  composition  by 
Edith,  which  was  pronounced,  by  the  best  judges  present,  as  a 
rare  and  most  creditable  effort  for  a  school-girl  of  her  years. 
Its  sensible  logic,  correct  English,  and  beauty  of  imagery,  could 
not  fail  of  winning  praise,  and  its  pathos  touched  many  hearts 
to  tears.  Its  theme  was  the  somewhat  peculiar  one  of 
"  Cotton"  And,  no  sooner  had  she  commenced  the  first  sen- 
tence thus,  "  We  find  our  word  cotton  was  originally  derived 
from  Khoten,  a  province  of  Kashgar,  in  Asia,"  than  she 
absorbed  the  undivided  interest  of  the  audience,  which  was 
never  suspended  till  the  end.  Such  a  fearless,  though  indirect 
allusion  to  her  former  employment,  exhibiting  the  deep  inde- 
pendence of  her  character,  and  her  capacity  to  defend  the  idea 
of  inferior  labor,  disarmed  criticism  at  once,  and  for  a  time, 
at  least,  allayed  the  envy  excited  by  the  distinctions  she  had 
won  for  herself.  She  did  not  treat  the  topic  simply  histori- 
cally, but  it  was  adorned  with  the  most  refined  and  excursive 
allusions  with  which  the  fabric  is  ever  associated ;  from  the 
gossamer-like  muslin  which  floats  around  the  aerial  figure  of 
the  ball-room,  or  the  person  of  the  youthful  bride,  to  the  plain 
robe  that  shrouds  the  inanimate  forms  of  those  whom  we  fol- 
14 


158  EDITH     HALE  . 

low  with  mourning  to  the  grave.  Among  the  most  conspic- 
uous of  the  concluding  addresses  was  that  of  Mr.  "Wellmont, 
in  which  he  employed  a  fine  sentence  from  Edith's  theme,  to 
bring  out  a  sentiment  of  his  own ;  and  this  laudatory  mention 
decided  the  popularity  of  her  effort. 

The  last  exercise  was  the  general  singing  of  a  parting 
hymn,  written  by  Edith.  This  was  the  ostensible  parting ;  but 
the  real  separation  was  another  thing.  The  pupils,  without 
exception,  esteemed  their  teacher  as  his  superior  merits 
deserved ;  and  they  would  have  been  inconsolable  had  he  not 
promised  to  return  at  the  expiration  of  a  few  weeks'  vacation. 

Julia  Pickering  had  used  every  effort  and  blandishment 
to  win  his  especial  regard,  and  she  believed  that  he  would 
at  least  ask  a  correspondence  with  her  during  his  absence. 
But,  though  he  had  uniformly  treated  her  with  the  most  per- 
fect politeness,  he  gave  uo  sign  of  what  her  heart  so  earnestly 
craved.  He  would  have  remained  a  day  or  two  longer  after 
the  close  of  his  school,  to  meet  several  pleasant  appointments 
with  his  pupils,  had  he  not  been  suddenly  ^ummoned  away 
by  a  message  from  home,  announcing  that  his  father  was 
dangerously  ill.  And  so,  amid  the  haste  of  his  departure, 
Julia  was  left  a  victim  of  hope  deferred.  But  Mary,  whose 
shrinking  heart  had  kept  her  by  herself  when  he  made  his 
adieus  to  the  family,  had  been  especially  summoned  to  his 
presence,  and  distinguished  by  a  confidential  communication. 

When  he  had  gone  Julia  yielded  to  a  passionate  outburst 
of  tears,  and,  enraged  with  disappointment  and  mortification, 
commanded  Mary  to  retire  with  her  to  her  own  room.  She 


EDITH     HALE.  159 

then  ordered  her  to  disclose  what  Mr.  Raymond  had  said  to 
her  in  the  moment  of  his  parting.  Mary  had  formerly  sub- 
mitted to  her  sisters,  whatever  restrictions  they  might  impose 
on  her;  but  of  late  her  character  had  acquired  new 
strength,  and  the  idea  that  she  had  some  right  of  her  own  had 
begun  to  dawn  upon  her  mind.  She  therefore  replied,  trem- 
bling with  the  weight  of  the  new  responsibility  she  was 
assuming, 

"  If  you  had  asked  me  in  kindness,  Julia,  I  would  have 
told  you ;  as  it  is,  I  refuse  to  do  so." 

"  Refuse !  "  repeated  Julia,  as  if  unable  to  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  that  word  from  one  whom  she  had  treated  as  an 
inferior. 

"  I  do,"  replied  Mary,  firmly,  but  calmly. 

The  chagrin  attending  Mr.  Raymond's  departure  had  proved 
sufficient  to  transform  Julia  into  an  impersonation  of  anger  ; 
but  this  new  rebuff  heightened  her  passion,  so  that  she  was 
scarcely  conscious  of  her  own  words.  Having  always  been 
a  prime  favorite  with  her  mother,  she  had  no  idea  of  thus 
being  baffled,  and  by  a  sister  who  had  been  educated 
to  co'wer  before  her.  A  long  hour  she  consumed  in  harsh 
invective  and  command,  to  effect  her  purpose.  At  last  Mary 
became  so  agitated  that  she  entreated  her  sister  to  desist. 
Her  sensitive  heart  was  sinking  beneath  the  accumulated 
abuse ;  for,  all  unused  as  she  was  to  self-defence,  she  had  no 
protection  for  herself.  An  appeal  to  her  other  sisters,  or  her 
mother,  she  knew  would  be  useless  ;  and  she  had  little  or  no 
access  to  her  father.  The  appearance  of  Julia  terrified  and 


160  EDITH     HALE. 

overwhelmed  her;  and,  falling  upon  her  knees  before  her, 
she  cried, 

"  0,  Julia  !  spare  me  !  spare  me  !     Let  me  go  from  you !  " 

"Never,"  said  Julia,  clenching  more  strongly  the  door- 
key,  "  until  you  tell  me  what  I  require." 

Mary  looked  up,  and  saw  her  eyes  flashing  with  anger,  her 
lips  compressed  with  determination,  and  she  felt  that  further 
appeal  was  hopeless.  Yet  she  was  firm  in  her  own  refusal 
to  yield  up  that  one  precious  secret  to  such  unwarranted 
extortion.  A  nature  like  hers  could  not  long  endure  such 
a  struggle.  A  quick,  sharp  pain  smote  her  heart,  communi- 
cating at  once  with  her  excited  brain.  She  tried  to  weep,  but 
all  command  of  herself  was  gone ;  and  her  last  recollections 
were  of  the  unkind  words  of  Julia,  bringing  new  misery  and 
darkness  with  every  moment. 

When  Mary  returned  to  consciousness,  she  found  herself 
in  her  own  room,  with  the  housemaid  waiting  at  her  bed- 
side. The  shadows  of  evening  had  stolen  in  unawares ; 
and,  to  her  bewildered  senses,  the  whole  apartment  was 
dense  with  gloom.  But  her  heart,  also  darkened,  was 
illumed  with  a  single  ray  of  hope,  as  of  pure,  white  light, 
associated  with  the  last  words  of  Horace  Raymond.  Through 
all  the  weary,  wakeful  hours  of  that  night,  in  spite  of  the  wretch- 
edness occasioned  by  the  repeated  recurrence  of  the  injuries 
she  had  received,  those  words  were  uppermost  in  her  mind. 

In  the  morning  she  was  decidedly  ill ;  but  no  one  of  the 
family  came  to  inquire  for  her.  Late  into  the  hours  of  the 
day  she  was  aroused  by  the  presence  of  her  father,  who  was 


EDITH     HALE.  161 

so  alarmed  at  her  appearance,  that  he  despatched  a  summons  for 
Dr.  Humphrey  without  delay.  With  the  physician  came  Mrs. 
Pickering,  who  was  very  profuse  in  her  attentions  to  him,  and 
to  please  him  gave  some  little  notice  to  Mary.  Mr.  Pick- 
ering was  reassured,  by  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Humphrey,  that 
Mary  had  nothing  more  than  a  slight  illness,  occasioned  by 
over-exertion,  which  might  be  cured  by  sufficient  rest  and 
freedom  from  excitement.  Leaving  a  light  sedative  medicine, 
and  some  of  his  characteristic  encouraging  words,  which  were 
in  most  cases  more  potent  than  drugs,  he  went  away.  Mrs. 
Pickering  lingered  long  enough  to  censure  Mary  severely  for 
what  she  termed  her  feigning  sickness  to  attract  attention, 
adding  that  she  had  been  made  quite  too  much  of  recently ; 
but  she  could  not  deceive  her,  as  she  did  her  father. 

This  was  one  more  pang  to  Mary ;  for,  to  be  thought  a 
deceiver,  in  addition  to  her  real  ills,  was  worse  than  the  pain  of 
sickness.  Left  to  the  solitude  of  her  own  thoughts,  she  rapidly 
grew  worse,  her  fever  increased,  and  her  mind  began  to  pic- 
ture to  itself  numberless  unreal  impressions.  Hour  after  hour 
she  lay  suffering  for  a  draught  of  water,  or  the  most  trifling 
attentions.  Once,  on  hearing  the  housemaid  pass  her  door,  she 
called  and  attracted  her  notice ;  but,  in  reply  to  her  wishes, 
she  was  told  that  peremptory  orders  had  been  given  to  let  her 
wait  upon  herself.  With  tears  she  reiterated  her  supplications 
in  vain,  and  finally  asked  to  have  Edith  sent  for  to  her  assist- 
ance. This  Gillis  promised  to  do. 

Mary  was  revived  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  her  friend ;  and 
she  soon  was  entirely  absorbed  in  the  pleasant  anticipation, 
14* 


162  EDITH     HALE. 

even  counting  the  minutes  which  must  elapse  in  the  mean 
•while. 

After  considerable  delay,  just  as  Mary  was  fully  expecting 
to  meet  the  dear  face  which  always  smiled  upon  her,  Gillis 
returned  alone,  saying  that  she  had  been  ordered  not  to  let 
any  one  go  to  her  room. 

This  disappointment  completed  the  work  already  begun. 
In  the  evening,  when  her  father  returned  with  Edith  (who  had 
hastened  to  her  at  the  first  moment  she  had  heard  of  her 
ailing),  the  consolation  came  too  late.  Mary  was  delirious 
with  a  high  fever,  and  had  no  correct  knowledge  of  anything 
about  her.  In  vain  did  Edith,  by  every  manifestation  of 
affection,  implore  her  to  recognize  her;  in  vain  were  her 
father's  kind  words  and  tears. 

The  only  answer  was,  "  Edith  can't  come,  and  I  have  no 
water  to  drink  !  Just  one  cup  !  0,  no  !  She  will  never  come 
to  me  !  " 

Dr.  Humphrey,  when  again  called,  shook  his  head  sadly, 
and  said  he  had  not  properly  estimated  her  case,  —  or,  as  was 
most  probable,  a  great  change  had  transpired  during  the  day, — 
and  regretted  he  had  not  been  summoned  sooner. 

It  resulted  in  a  protracted  and  dangerous  illness,  during 
all  which  time  Edith  was  unremitting  in  her  attentions 
—  an  angel  of  gentleness  and  care.  Meanwhile  Mrs.  Pick- 
ering kept  within  her  own  room,  upon  the  plea  of  nervous 
indisposition.  The  sisters,  who  belonged  to  that  class  who 
have  a  fear  of  nothing  so  much  as  of  sickness  and  death, 
would  not  have  entered  Mary's  apartment  upon  any  consider- 


EDITH     HALE.  163 

ation,  lest  it  might  have  resulted  in  some  kind  of  injury  to 
themselves ;  and,  beside,  Julia  had  especial  reasons  of  her 
own  for  not  appearing  there,  for  the  true  secret  of  her  sister's 
illness  was  known  only  to  the  sufferer  and  herself.  Mary  had 
raved  piteously  about  that  fearful  scene  with  Julia,  but  no  one 
imagined  she  was  speaking  truth. 

The  crisis  of  her  illness  was  watched  by  Dr.  Humphrey, 
her  father,  and  Edith ;  and  when  at  last  a  word  of  hope 
was  whispered  by  the  kind-hearted  physician,  amid  his 
tears,  Edith  was  almost  overcome  with  the  excess  of  her 
emotion,  and  prayed  fervently  to  Heaven  that  Mary  might 
yet  live  in  the  light  of  happier  days. 

Mary  returned  to  the  consciousness  of  life  like  a  frail  plant 
trampled  to  the  earth,  bearing  the  likeness  of  death,  but 
revived  a  little  by  the  cooling  breath  of  a  shower.  Her 
spiritual  nature  was  dominant  over  the  earthly  to  such  a 
degree  that  her  senses  seemed  refined  to  the  most  perfect 
sensitiveness ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  affectionate 
attendance  of  her  friend,  the  delicate  chords  of  her  being, 
long  rudely  stretched  by  unloving  hands,  would  have  been 
broken  forever.  The  doctor  entertained  fears  at  this  time 
of  the  derangement  of  her  mind,  and  so  had  cautioned  the 
family  against  every  species  of  action  in  her  presence  that 
might  occasion  excitement. 

Mary  had  begun  to  acquire  strength  a  little  more  rapidly, 
when  Edith  was  obliged  to  leave  her  for  a  day,  to  attend  an 
examination  of  candidates  for  teachers,  in  a  neighboring 
town,  where  she  had  succeeded  in  engaging  a  school  for 


164  EDITH     HALE. 

the  ensuing  season,  by  the  recommendation  of  Mr.  "VTellmont. 
She  would  willingly  have  deferred  the  engagement,  but,  as 
this  could  not  be,  she  carefully  introduced  the  subject  to  Mary, 
and  inquired  which  of  her  sisters  she  should  ask  to  take  her 
place  during  her  absence.  The  invalid  was  pained  at  the 
prospect,  for  her  dread  of  her  family  was  unconquerable  ; 
but,  concealing  her  feelings,  she  entered  into  the  spirit  of 
Edith's  arrangements  with  as  much  heart  as  she  was  able. 
None  of  her  sisters,  however,  were  found  willing  to  undertake 
the  service,  and  Gillis  was  assigned  to  the  place. 

But  when  the  morrow  came,  and  Gillis  had  left  Mary  for 
a  few  minutes,  to  attend  to  some  of  her  household  duties. 
Julia  entered  the  room  of  her  sister,  and,  entirely  contrary 
to  her  usual  manner,  condescended  to  be  quite  gracious,  and 
even  inquired  if  there  were  not  some  assistance  she  could 
render  her.  Mary  was  startled  at  her  appearance  there, 
scarcely  knowing  what  reply  to  make.  She  was  about  to 
murmur  her  acknowledgments,  when  Julia  approached  her 
bed,  and,  producing  something  which  she  held  up  within  her 
hands,  said, 

"  Guess,  Moll,  what  I  've  got  here !  " 

"  I  can't  tell,"  replied  Mary,  faintly  smiling. 

"  It  is  a  letter,"  said  Julia,  her  eyes  sparkling. 

Mary  instantly  thought  to  herself  that  it  must  be  a  letter 
to  her  from  Horace  Raymond,  —  that  expected  letter  upon 
which  her  imagination  had  so  much  dwelt,  —  and  that  Julia, 
regretting  her  late  unkindness,  had  brought  it  in  person. 

"  Look  there,"  continued  Julia ,  holding  the  envelope  so 


EDITH     HALE.  165 

that  she  might  see  only  the  word  "  Waterbury "  upon  the 
outside ;  "  can  you  tell  that  writing  ?  " 

Mary  knew  it  well  —  knew  it  in  an  instant ;  for  no  one 
ever  wrote  like  Horace  llaymond. 

"  0,  yes,"  she  replied,  extending  her  hands  eagerly.  "  Do 
give  it  to  me  quickly  !  " 

Julia  drew  backward,  retaining  the  letter,  and  glancing 
silently  at  Mary,  who  was  trembling  with  excess  of  joyful 
emotion. 

"  Are  you  certain  it  is  for  you?  "  she  at  length  inquired. 

"  Yes  ;  he  told  me  he  would  write,  and  I  expected  a  letter 
long  before,"  replied  Mary,  with  great  simplicity. 

"  Ah !  that  indeed  !  "  pursued  Julia,  in  her  wonted  tone, 
which  caused  Mary  to  start  with  her  old  fear,  and  look  upon 
her  bewilderingly.  "  So  you  can  tell  me  now  without  drivel- 
ling upon  your  knees  for  an  excuse !  " 

"  0  !  Julia,  how  can  you  tantalize  me  so  ?  "  cried  Mary, 
turning  very  pale. 

"  Well,  look  once  again ! "  and  she  now  displayed  the 
entire  face  of  the  envelope.  "  Does  that  read  like  your  name, 
or  mine  ?  " 

When  Mary  discovered  that  the  letter  was  addressed  to 
Julia,  she  only  faltered,  brokenly,  "  Was  there  no  letter  for 
me  ?  "  and,  receiving  a  triumphant  "  No  "  in  reply,  clasped 
her  hands  over  her  face  to  conceal  her  emotion,  and  lay  per- 
fectly motionless.  Julia  expected  to  see  her  weep  and  moan, 
but  she  awaited  the  sounds  of  grief  in  vain. 


CHAPTER    XI. 

EXAMINATION   BEFORE   THE    SCHOOL-COMMITTEE. 

TIIERE  are  few  positions  so  trying  to  a  young  girl  entering 
the  world  upon  her  individual  responsibility  as  that  of  appear- 
ing before  a  select  committee  for  examination  as  to  her 
qualifications  for  a  school-teacher.  That  our  free  schools 
should  be  zealously  guarded  from  being  committed  to  unwor- 
thy and  incapable  instructors,  is  certain ;  but  that  such 
guardianship  is  frequently  exercised  under  the  influence  of 
prejudice,  false  notions  of  requirements,  and  a  desire  to 
exhibit  superiority  in  contrast  to  helplessness,  is  equally 
certain.  For  how  frequently,  at  the  present  day,  are  appli- 
cants for  schools  tortured  and  rejected,  because  they  fail  to 
answer  some  foolish  quibble,  or  describe  a  course  of  travel 
as  ambiguous  as  a  selenographic  chart,  and  which  would 
do  credit  to  a  Humboldt  or  Sir  John  Franklin,  when,  perhaps, 
they  possess  many  of  the  best  requisites  for  the  vocation,  — 
serenity  of  temper,  clear  judgment,  and  grace  of  manners ; 
while  some  flippant,  conceited  candidate  for  teaching,  without 
experience  or  knowledge  of  human  nature  derived  from  books 
or  observation,  but  who  can  glibly  answer  said  quibble,  and 


KDIT1I     HALE.  167 

accomplish  the  given  task,  obtains  preference  for  the  train- 
ing of  young  mind*,  for  whom  systematic  habits  of  thought 
are  of  infinitely  greater  importance  than  the  minutiae  of 
text-books  \vhich  are  changed  every  few  years. 

In  such  a  situation  the  most  self-assured  are  baffled,  and  the 
naturally  diffident  and  distrustful  receive  a  shock  more  pow- 
erful than  that  from  any  galvanic  battery.  A  timid,  trem- 
bling applicant  for  a  certificate,  before  a  body  of  several 
ministers,  who  will  be  as  astute,  powerful,  and  formidable,  as 
is  possible,  reminds  one  of  the  accounts  of  human  sacrifices 
in  the  Egyptian  temple  of  Isis. 

The  place  at  which  Edith  met  this  ordeal  was  at  Birhamp- 
ton,  a  town  adjacent  to  Waterbury,  at  the  house  of  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Swinton,  whom  the  reader  has  already  met  in  the  study 
of  Mr.  \Tellmont.  But  Mr.  Swinton  was  not  the  chairman 
of  the  committee.  The  important  personage  who  conducted 
affairs  was  the  Rev.  Hyliscus  Crabtree,  the  pastor  of  the  most 
powerful  society  of  the  place,  and  apparently  at  home  in 
his  position.  He  was  a  lofty,  cold,  unimpressible  man,  who 
stood  in  the  world  like  a  grave-stone,  in  memory  of  death 
and  of  his  own  name.  He  had  a  great  reputation,  —  that 
most  convenient  antecedent  to  all  independence,  —  and  so 
could  well  afford  to  stand  aloof  upon  the  pedestal  of  his  dig- 
nity. It  was  known  that  the  family  of  Crabtree  to  which  he 
belonged  had  produced  numerous  ministers  upon  the  direct 
stalk,  or  collateral  branches ;  that  he,  the  Rev.  Hyliscus,  had 
received  his  education,  which  was  reputed  to  be  immense,  at 


168  EDITH     1IALE. 

two  colleges,  in  a  law-office,  in  the  study  of  an  eminent  divine, 
and  in  a  theological  institution. 

Pope,  in  his  Moral  Essays,  when  enumerating  the  different 
callings  of  the  sons  of  a  family,  says : 

"  Will  sneaks  a  scrivener,  an  exceeding  knave  ; 
Is  he  a  churchman  ?  —  then  he  's  fond  of  power." 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  characteristics  of  the  other 
twigs  of  Crabtree,  it  is  undeniable  that  a  fondness  for  power 
distinguished  this  one.  His  power  over  the  community  in 
which  he  lived  was  of  that  nature  that  he  could  have  pro- 
pounded any  rule  in  religious  and  practical  life  to  his  people 
without  dispute ;  could  act  and  think  for  them  without  gain- 
saying, and  had  become  almost  an  embodiment  of  their  religion. 

The  third  member  of  the  committee  was  Rev.  Mr.  Pin- 
ney,  a  small  man,  with  a  small  voice,  and  representing  a 
small  society.  The  remaining  member  was  a  layman,  who 
was  one  of  those  men  especially  esteemed  by  ministers,  and 
who  consequently  attained  to  his  office  through  their  influence. 

There  was  also  in  Mr.  Swinton's  parlor  a  lady,  who  sat 
aside,  by  a  window,  engaged  in  some  fancy-work.  At  the 
entrance  of  Edith,  notwithstanding  her  embarrassment,  her 
attention  had  been  arrested  by  this  lady's  cool  scrutiny  of 
herself,  and  by  the  peculiar  expression  of  her  countenance 
that  followed,  which  Edith  felt  was  not  only  pointed 
with  curiosity,  but  disdain.  She  was  attired  with  great  ele- 
gance, and  was  evidently  disposed  to  rate  everybody  by 
her  own  standard.  When  the  committee  had  all  assembled, 


EDITH     HALE.  169 

this  lady  observed  to  Mr.  Swinton,  with  a  peculiar  smile,  that 
she  would  retire  from  the  room,  if  necessary ;  for  which  he 
declared  there  was  no  necessity,  and,  turning  to  the  clergy- 
men, said  :  "  This  lady  is  from  a  city ;  and  I  should  like  to 
have  her  witness  some  of  our  proceedings  here  in  the  country, 
if  there  are  no  objections."  - 

"  Certainly,  madam ;  we  should  like  to  have  you  remain," 
said  Mr.  Crabtree. 

Edith  having  arrived  earlier  in  the  day  than  the  other 
applicants,  she  was  first  summoned  before  the  committee.  It 
was  their  custom  to  devote  a  day  to  the  examinations,  so  that 
each  person  might  appear  separately ;  and  they  were  now 
fresh  for  the  work.  She  was  first  requested  to  read  a  page 
from  a  History  of  Missions,  on  which  were  a  variety  of  diffi- 
cult names  of  persons  and  foreign  stations,  selected  by  Mr. 
Crabtree.  Edith  was  a  very  fine  reader,  usually  ;  her  voice 
was  adapted  to  clear  and  distinct  expression ;  and  her  sensi- 
tive appreciation  of  the  subject,  combined  with  a  certain 
natural  taste,  enabled  her  more  than  creditably  to  inter- 
pret the  author.  But,  having,  on  this  occasion,  to  read,  as  it 
•were,  for  a  given  amount  of  approbation,  in  presence  of  such 
critical  listeners,  she  lost  her  self-possession,  at  first,  and  read 
in  manner  quite  unworthy  of  herself.  But  Mr.  Swinton 
sat  smiling  all  the  while,  and  each  time  she  had  strug- 
gled to  the  end  of  the  sentence  nodded  encouragingly ;  for 
it  was  quite  in  his  vein  to  secure  the  good  graces  of  every 
one,  partly  from  a  love  of  popularity,  but  more,  perhaps, 
from  a  natural  kindliness  of  heart.  But  all  this  kindnesa 
15 


170  EDITH     HALE. 

was  lost  upon  Edith.  She  saw  only  the  large,  solemn  figure 
of  Mr.  Crabtree,  whose  presence,  to  her  mind,  swallowed  up 
all  the  others',  as  did  the  fat  kine  of  Pharaoh's  dream  devour 
the  lean. 

She  was  next  exercised  in  orthography,  in  which  she  made 
no  mistakes. 

"  I  shall  now  ask  you  some  questions  in  primary  instruc- 
tion," said  Mr.  Crabtree.  "  Among  the  abbreviations  are 
some  of  which  I  find  many  teachers  ignorant,  but  which  must 
be  known  and  taught,  to  attain  the  true  standard.  We  always 
find,  in  certain  common  legal  instruments,  a  form  like  this  : 
'  Middlesex,  ss.,'  or  any  other  county,  with  that  annexed 
abbreviation.  Now,  what  does  '  ss.'  stand  for  ?  " 

"  For  solicit,  I  believe,"  answered  Edith. 

"  I  know  that  is  the  vulgar  error ;  but  it  is  tyne  it  was 
more  generally  corrected,"  said  Mr.  Crabtree,  glancing  about 
upon  the  other  members  of  the  committee,  who  were  looking 
scarcely  less  puzzled  than  Edith.  "  It  stands  for  scilicet,  a 
Latin  word,  —  " 

"  "Which  signifies  '  truly,'  '  to  wit,'  "  said  Edith,  who  was 
very  well  versed  in  the  rendering  of  Latin. 

Mr.  Crabtree  frowned.  He  had  not  supposed  that  Edith 
knew  anything  of  what  he  was  about  to  say ;  and  he  did  not 
like  missing  the  eclat  of  his  point.  "  It  signifies  '  You  may 
be  sure,'  "  he  added,  curtly. 

Mr.  Pinney,  and  Mr.  Lee,  the  layman,  looked,  for  all  the 
world,  as  though  the  Latin  word  had  no  other  intelligence  for 
them  than  "  slice  it,"  or  "  silly  set." 


EDITH     HALE.  171 

"  Xmas  ?  "  pursued  Mr.  Crabtree.  Edith  could  not  tell ; 
and  she  began  to  feel  very  much  confused. 

"  It  is  an  abbreviation  of  Christmas,"  said  Mr.  Crabtree. 

"  Xn  ?  "     Edith  was  at  a  loss  again. 

"  Means  Christian." 

"  I  did  not  know  as  the  word  Christian  was  ever  abbrevi- 
ated," ventured  Edith. 

"  Xeither  did  I,"  said  Mr.  Swinton,  smiling,  "  only  in  cases 
where  the  word  is  used  to  designate  particular  graces." 

"  It  is  upon  the  list  of  abbreviations  in  common  use,"  said 
Mr.  Crabtree;  "  and  I  might  ask  many  more,  which,  I  pre- 
sume, you  could  not  tell,"  he  added. 

Edith  sat  pale  and  trembling  with  fear,  till  she  could  see 
three  Rev.  Hyliscus  Crabtrees,  instead  of  one. 

"  We  shall  next  examine  your  knowledge  of  geography," 
said  the  chairman ;  "  and  in  this  branch  we  are  very  partic- 
ular, as  we  attach  great  importance  to  having  our  teachers 
thoroughly  conversant  with  the  location,  statistical  resources, 
and  general  knowledge  of  the  places  of  the  world,  that  the 
pupils  committed  to  their  instruction  may  be  extensively  and 
thoroughly  trained  in  this  point.  Mr.  Swinton,  will  you 
proceed  to  open  the  geographical  questions  ?  " 

Edith  now  felt  like  the  mariner  who  sees  his  ship 
between  two  enormous  mountains  of  ice,  each  approaching 
nearer  and  nearer  to  his  destruction.  She  was  making  a 
rapid  effort  to  recall  the  boundaries  of  as  many  states  as 
possible,  when  Mr.  Swinton  interrupted  her  thoughts  by  ask- 
ing, "  What  place  in  the  east  is  the  most  renowned  for  the 


172  EDITII     HALE. 

incomparable  fragrance  of  the  rose-water  there  manufac- 
tured ?  " 

Edith  blushed -to  the  hue  of  the  deepest  blush-roses  which 
ever  came  to  distillation ;  for  she  had  not  the  slightest  inform- 
ation on  the  question. 

"  It  is  Nisiben,  in  Mesopotamia,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Swin- 
ton,  who,  perceiving  her  embarrassment,  wished  to  relieve  it 
as  quickly  as  possible. 

"  Which  State  in  the  Union  has  the  least  compass  of  terri- 
tory ?  "  next  inquired  Mr.  Pinney,  of  the  small  society.  This 
being  promptly  answered,  Mr.  Crabtree  looked  to  Mr.  Lee  for 
the  next  question,  who  said  he  thought  of  nothing  at  that 
moment  to  ask.  He  would  have  a  question  the  next  time. 

"  Where  is  the  Strait  of  Bab-el-Mandel,  and  from  what  is 
the  name  derived  ?  "  now  asked  Mr.  Crabtree. 

Edith  stated  the  location  promptly ;  but  the  derivation  she 
could  not  tell,  and  remarked  that  she  should  think  that  ques- 
tion was  not  embraced  within  the  province  of  Geography. 

Mr.  Crabtree  sat  in  severe  silence  for  a  moment,  lost  in 
contemplation  of  the  idea  of  a  young,  ignorant  girl  presuming 
to  criticize  a  question  from  a  man  like  himself.  "  If  she  had 
belonged  to  my  people  she  would  have  been  wiser,"  he 
thought ;  "  as  it  is,  I  will  show  her  that  the  Rev.  Hyliscus 
Crabtree  knows  why  he  speaks." 

"  The  derivation  of  names  is  among  the  most  important 
branches  of  knowledge,"  he  said  to  Edith,  elevating  his 
eyes  to  the  ceiling,  and  occasionally  glancing  down,  as  a 
condor,  sitting  upon  the  heights  of  the  Andes,  casts  his  eyo 


EDITH     HALE.  173 

upon  his  prospective  prey  in  the  vale  below.  "  If  you  are 
unable  to  instruct  in  this,  you  cannot  instruct  at  all  as  you 
should.  The  name  Bab-el-Mandel  is  from  the  Arabic  for 
the  '  Gate  of  Tears ; '  and  was  of  old  applied  to  the  strait, 
from  the  belief  that  those  who  issued  through  it  could  never 
return." 

The  tears  now  came  to  Edith's  eyes,  as  if  in  correspondence 
to  Mr.  Crabtree's  "  derivation  ;  "  but  through  them  she  saw, 
in  a  moment  of  misery,  the  lady  who  sat  listening,  striving  to 
draw  Mr.  Swinton  into  a  smile,  in  return  for  her  derisive 
laugh.  That  look  was  long  afterward  remembered  by  its 
victim ;  for  there  are  few  trials  more  poignant  to  bear  than 
the  mirth  of  others  at  our  woe. 

"  What  are  some  of  the  distinguishing  characteristics  of 
the  Caucasian  countries  ?  "  now  inquired  Mr.  Swinton,  in  a 
manner  which  he  intended  to  be  very  bland  and  familiar. 
Edith  hesitated.  "  fror  instance,  of  Circassia  ?  —  of  Schir- 
van  ? "  he  added.  Edith,  a  little  brightened,  replied  that 
Georgia  and  Circassia,  provinces  of  Caucasus,  were  famous 
for  the  strength  and  symmetry  of  the  frames  of  the  inhab- 
itants. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Swinton,  dallying  a  little  with  his  watch- 
key  ;  "  and  you  might  have  added,  that  the  women  of  those 
countries  are  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world.  That  is  geo- 
graphical. However,  private  opinion  might  differ,"  bowing 
to  Edith  and  his  lady  friend,  with  especial  animation.  Mr. 
Crabtree  now  frowned  again,  and  looked  upon  his  associates 
with  unmitigated  reproof.  Mr.  Pinney  laughed  a  very  little 
15* 


174  EDITH     HALE. 

laugh  ;  and  Mr.  Lee  did  not  know  exactly  what  it  was  proper 
to  do. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  anything  of  Schirvan,  Miss  Hale  ?  "  con- 
tinued Mr.  Swinton. 

Of  Schirvan  Edith  was  wholly  oblivious,  having  only,  in 
connection  with  the  derivation  of  names,  an  unpleasant  asso- 
ciation with  an  obnoxious  disease. 

"  This  region,"  said  Mr.  Swinton,  "  from  the  abundance  of 
its  beautiful  flowers,  is  called  the  Paradise  of  Hoses.  Here 
is  also  the  temple  of  fire,  and  the  fountains  of  white  naphtha 
and  black  naphtha  ;  which  latter  supplies  many  countries  with 
a  certain  substance  called —  lamp  oil." 

This  last  was  spoken  carefully  by  Mr.  Swinton,  as  if  in  fear 
of  soiling  his  tongue. 

"  And  Sovropol,  the  capital  of  another  province  of  Cauca- 
sus," continued  Mr.  Crabtree,  "  is  the  location  of  a  Scottish 
missionary  station." 

Mr.  Swinton  bowed  assent ;  but  it  was  doubtful  if  he  had 
treasured  so  deep  a  memory  of  the  missionary  station,  as  of 
the  roses  and  feminine  loveliness. 

"  Which  is  the  longest  river  in  the  world  ?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Pinney,  opening  his  eyes  with  the  evident  determination  to  be 
something,  after  all,  and  extending  his  dapper  limbs  to  their 
utmost  capacity.  This  being  answered,  Mr.  Lee  ventured 
to  inquire,  in  deference  to  the  clergy  present,  "  How  many 
houses  of  public  worship  are  there  in  London  ?  " 

"  That  question,"  said  Mr.  Crabtree,  "  is  good  for  some  oc- 


EDITH     HALE.  175 

casions  ;  but  it  is  hardly  explicit  enough  for  this.  Will  you 
proceed  to  supply  its  place  by  another  ?  " 

"  What  people  of  the  world  have  a  practice,  when  they  are 
dying,  of  taking  hold  of  a  cow's  tail  ?  " 

Mr.  Swinton  now  laughed  outright,  and  Mr.  Crabtree  looked 
upon  his  layman  in  consternation.  As  Edith  could  not  tell, 
Mr.  Lee  said  it  was  the  Brahmins,  who  believed  that  by  so 
doing  the  cow  would  assist  them  to  cross  the  river  of  fire, 
which  lies,  according  to  them,  between  this  world  and  the 
other.  He  considered  it  a  very  important  question,  and  he 
regretted  that  it  could  not  be  answered. 

He  had  been  reading  a  work  on  the  heathen  of  India,  and 
he  had  been  astonished  beyond  measure  at  the  revelations 
therein  made. 

"  Speaking  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Swinton,  "  reminds  me  of  a 
foolish  thing,  too  good  to  be  kept  in  this  connection.  A  little 
girl,  the  daughter  of  one  of  my  relatives  from  the  city,  once 
on  a  visit  here,  went  to  ride  with  me,  and,  in  her  surprise  at 
the  novelty  of  the  horse  so  near  her,  asked,  '  Will  the  cow's 
tail  bite  me  ? '  I  think  I  should  be  inclined  to  put  a  similar 
query,  were  I  in  the  condition  of  the  Brahmins." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Crabtree,  and  proceeded  to  ask 
another  derivation  at  once,  to  restore  the  atmosphere  to  a 
suitable  frigidity,  after  so  much  nonsense. 

"  From  what  does  the  palace  of  the  Tuilleries  derive  its 
name  ?  "  As  Edith  made  no  attempt  to  answer,  after  a  long 
pause,  he  said,  "  From  tuile,  a  tile ;  because  the  spot  on  which 
it  is  erected  was  once  used  for  the  manufacture  of  tiles." 


176  EDITH    HALE. 

Mr.  Crabtree  saw  that  Edith  was  thoroughly  discomposed ; 
but,  remembering  her  objection  to  his  first  derivation,  he  was 
determined  not  to  flinch ;  for  his  temperament  required  seven- 
fold restitution  for  offence. 

"  What  two  bays  are  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  Afri- 
can coast,  and  from  what  do  they  derive  their  name  ? "  he 
continued.  "  Can't  tell  ?  A  simple  question !  They  are 
the  two  Syrtes,  so  famous  in  classical  history ;  and  their 
name  comes  from  the  frequent  dragging,  or  shifting,  of  their 
channel." 

"  Were  you  in  despair  of  heart,"  said  Mr.  Swinton,  "  and 
wished  to  banish  yourself  from  the  scene  of  your  sorrows,  to 
the  Sahara  Desert,  —  or,  as  it  is  sometimes  called,  the  Sahara 
Bela-ma  (the  sea  without  water),  —  what  direction  would  you 
take?  and  at  what  points  would  you  touch  in  your  progress?" 

With  considerable  hesitation,  Edith  proceeded  to  reply  as 
intelligibly  as  she  could ;  and,  by  Mr.  Swinton's  assistance, 
was  conducted  at  last,  after  a  variety  of  stops,  to  the  goal  of 
her  sorrows. 

"  What  is  the  kebla,  or  praying-point  of  the  Mahometans  ?  " 
inquired  Mr.  Pinney. 

"  Toward  Mecca,"  said  Edith;  "and  may  I  inquire,"  she 
continued,  with  a  sudden  revival  of  all  her  energies,  while  her 
dark  eyes  flashed  her  indignation  through  her  tears,  looking 
alternately  from  Mr.  Crabtree  to  Mr.  Pinney,  "  if  your  pray- 
ing-point, before  meeting  here  to  examine  a  poor  girl  for  her 
qualification  for  the  means  of  obtaining  a  livelihood,  who 
carries  an  honorable  certificate  of  preparation  from  several 


EDITH     HALE.  177 

learned  persons,  was  in  the  direction  of  that  Being  who 
has  said,  '  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain 
mercy '  ?  " 

At  this,  Mr.  Pinney  was  overpowered,  and  retired  within 
his  shell  of  dignity,  like  a  little  tortoise  with  a  live  coal  upon 
its  back.  Mr.  Swinton  nodded  in  triumph  to  his  lady  friend. 
But  Mr.  Crabtree  grew  very  red  in  the  face,  and  seemed,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  proceed  ; 
for,  from  his  knowledge  of  woman,  he  thought  he  had  already 
said  enough  to  put  Edith  in  her  place. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Swinton,  in  a  brisk  manner,  as  though  a 
sudden  wind  had  sprung  up,  "  we  will  proceed  briefly  to  ex- 
amine you  in  arithmetic.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Lee  ventured  to 
whisper  to  Mr.  Crabtree  that  one  so  irreverent  as  that  girl 
ought  to  be  banished  from  the  room.  "  Wait,"  replied  Mr. 
Crabtree,  emphatically. 

The  questions,  now  chiefly  conducted  by  Mr.  Swinton,  were 
all  answered  promptly  and  correctly  ;  for  Edith  had  laid  aside 
a  portion  of  her  terror  after  reaching  the  ultimatum  of  human 
patience.  She  was  answering  thus  spiritedly,  when  Mr. 
Crabtree  interrupted  with,  "  From  what  is  the  word  carat 
derived  ?  " 

Edith  replied,  with  unabated  promptness,  she  did  not 
know. 

Mi1.  Crabtree  felt  quite  above  explanation  this  time,  when 
Mr.  Swinton  remarked,  "  You  will  oblige  us  by  giving  the 
derivation,  Mr.  Crabtree ;  for  I  presume  no  one  present  knows 
but  yourself." 


178  KDITH     HALE. 

"  It  comes  from  kuara,  a  kind  of  bean,  by  which  gold 
powder  was  originally  weighed  in  the  East,"  vouchsafed  Mr. 
Crabtree,  icily. 

"  It  would  be  of  great  service  to  me,  sir,"  said  Edith,  "  if 
you  would  tell  me  who  first  invented  arithmetic." 

"  I  came  here  to  ask  questions,  not  to  answer  them,"  said 
Mr.  Crabtree,  growing  redder. 

"  I  believe  I  have  read  somewhere,"  said  Mr.  Swinton,  "  that 
arithmetic  first  attained  any  degree  of  perfection  among  the 
Greeks ;  but  to  what  particular  person  the  science  of  numbers 
owes  its  origin,  I  am  unable  to  tell." 

She  was  then  examined  in  grammar,  principally  by  Mr. 
Crabtree,  who,  notwithstanding  her  superior  knowledge  of 
that  branch,  succeeded  in  puzzling  her  till  she  could  be  puz- 
zled no  further.  Mr.  Swinton  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said 
the  time  allowed  for  the  examination  had  passed. 

"  I  shall  ask  one  question  more,"  said  Mr.  Crabtree,  who 
seemed  unwilling  to  lose  the  latest  opportunity  for  the  display 
of  his  knowledge  :  '•  Who  first  invented  the  alphabet  ?  " 

Edith  cast  a  look  of  appeal  to  Mr.  Swinton ;  her  last  hope 
was  slipping  away  from  beneath  her  grasp. 

"  It  is  necessary  a  teacher  should  know  this,  as  well  as  the 
other  questions  we  have  asked,"  said  Mr.  Crabtree,  "in  order 
that  pupils  may  be  taught  something  more  than  what  is  found 
in  school-books.  It  is  of  vast  importance  that  a  child,  before 
learning  its  letters,  should  be  told  that  the  alphabet  was  —  " 

"  I  now  recollect,"  spoke  Edith,  with  a  sudden  dawn  of 


EDITH     HALE.  179 

intelligence  upon  the  subject,  "  that  Cadmus  is  said  to  have 
first  introduced  letters  into  Greece." 

"  Plato  lays  down,"  continued  Mr.  Crabtree,  at  the  same 
time  letting  his  hand  fall  upon  the  table,  emphatically,  "  that 
the  alphabet  was  invented  by  Thoth,  secretary  to  the  Egypt- 
ian king,  Thamus ;  and  I  regard  such  authority  as  indis- 
putable." 

"  Indeed !  "  interposed  Mr.  Swinton,  with  a  very  bland  smile  ; 
"  I  must  now  beg  leave  to  differ  from  you,  Mr.  Crabtree,  or 
Plato.  This  young  lady  is  correct,  I  think.  The  other  day, 
alighting  upon  the  fact,  that,  in  the  language  of  the  Indians,  a 
rose  is  signified  by  the  word  ertel,  I  went  on  to  think  of  the 
origin  of  letters,  by  a  natural  association  of  ideas.  Upon  re- 
ferring to  ancient  and  honorable  authority,  I  found  that  the 
alphabetical  characters  were  brought  out  of  Phoenicia,  by  Cad- 
mus, in  the  time  of  the  judges  of  Israel.  They  then  num- 
bered only  sixteen  letters.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  years  after 
this,  four  letters  more  were  added  by  Palamedes,  in  the  time 
of  the  siege  of  Troy ;  though  s'ome  give  out  that  Epicharmus 
invented  two  of  these  letters.  After  the  siege  of  Troy,  —  six 
hundred  and  fifty  years,  if  I  remember  correctly,  —  Simonides 
invented  the  other  four  letters.  If  I  arn  tedious,"  he  added, 
"  I  bog  pardon.  But  I  wished  to  communicate  what  little  I 
knew  upon  the  point  at  issue,  although  I  must  say  that  I  con- 
sider it  of  less  consequence  that  a  little  abecedarian  should 
kno.r  this,  than  the  letters  themselves,  with  the  answers  to 
such  .questions  as,  '  What  town  do  you  live  in  ? '  and  '  How 
many  senses  have  you  ? ' " 


180  EDITH     HALE. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  they  will  not  have  the  sense  called 
•nonsense^  said  Mr.  Crabtree,  to  Mr.  Swinton,  in  a  low  aside, 
intended  for  a  reproof. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  softly  rejoined  Mr.  Swinton,  in  excellent  humor; 
"  but  there  is  one  other  sense,  which  persons  who  have  studied 
a  long  life  sometimes  lack,  although  it  is  considered  very 
common." 

"  You  may  now  leave  this  room  until  you  are  recalled  to 
hear  our  decision  respecting  your  qualifications,"  said  Mr. 
Crabtree,  in  a  loud  tone,  to  Edith. 

This  deliberation  continued  an  unusual  length  of  time,  dur- 
ing which  Edith  was  a  victim  of  anxiety  and  dread.  "  If  I 
am  rejected  as  not  qualified,  it  will  be  such  a  mortification  to 
have  the  fact  come  to  the  knowledge  of  my  friends  —  to 
Mr.  Wellmont,  who  recommended  me  ! "  she  reflected.  "  And, 
then,  it  would  be  a  great  misfortune  to  lose  the  opportunity 
of  teaching  the  school,  which  will  leave  me  without  prospect 
of  the  means  of  obtaining  a  livelihood." 

As  she  had  failed  to  answer  so  many  of  the  questions 
asked  her,  she  had  strong  fears  of  rejection  ;  but  Mr.  Swin- 
ton's  kind  manner  inspired  her  with  a  faint  hope.  One 
thought  dwelt  uppermost  in  her  mind ;  it  was  that,  whatever 
might  be  said  in  her  disparagement  by  the  committee  in  their 
deliberations,  it  would  be  in  hearing  of  that  lady  who  had 
looked  upon  her  so  derisively ;  and  how  could  she  enter  her 
presence  again,  and,  perhaps,  hear  her  rejection  announced 
before  her  !  To  some  persons  this  would  have  been  the  last 
consideration,  or  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference ;  but  Edith 


EDITH     HALE.  181 

was  greatly,  and  unhappily,  influenced  in  her  presence,  by 
some  mysterious  reason  for  which,  she  could  not  account. 
As  she  sat  in  Mr.  Swinton's  back  parlor  alone,  the  image  of 
the  lady,  with  her  cold,  haughty  eye,  and  the  expressive 
curve  of  her  lip,  haunted  her  continually.  "  If  Mr.  "Well- 
mont  were  only  here,  I  should  feel  that  I  was  protected," 
she  said  to  herself. 

At  length  Mr.  Lee  entered  the  room ;  her  heart  beat  vio- 
lently in  agony,  and  with  difficulty  she  followed  him,  as  he 
said,  in  a  hard  tone,  "  You  are  requested  to  come  now  and 
hear  the  decision  respecting  you." 

She  returned  to  the  parlor  mechanically,  and  took  her  posi- 
tion beside  a  chair,  just  behind  the  lady. 

"  You  may  sit  down,"  said  Mr.  Crabtree.  But  Edith  did 
not  move,  being  too  rigidly  preoccupied. 

"  We  have  considered  your  case,"  began  Mr.  Crabtree,  in 
a  terribly  austere  manner,  "  thoroughly,  jointly,  carefully  ;  and 
the  majority  of  this  committee  think — " 

"  Yes  ;  the  majority,  and  not  all !  "  interrupted  Mr.  Swin- 
ton ;  while  Edith  was  now  so  dizzied  that  she  grasped  the  back 
of  the  chair  against  which  she  stood  for  support.  — 

"  That  you  are  not  qualified  to  teach  the  school  for  which 
you  have  engaged  yourself.  You  are  young,  and  possibly,  in 
time,  you  may  become  qualified  to  be  a  teacher.  At  present, 
we  recommend  you  to  attend  school  as  a  scholar." 

Edith  next  heard  a  rustle  of  the  lady's  silk  dress,  as  she 
turned  in  her  chair  to  discover  how  the  victim  would  bear  the 
last  infliction,  and  she  heard  something  which  was  said  hiir- 
16 


182  EDITH     HALE. 

riedly  by  Mr.  Swinton,  about  his  being  in  favor  of  somebody, 
or  something ;  but  she  was  too  confused  to  retain  any  distinct 
consciousness,  save  those  words,  "you  are  not  qualified!  "  which 
echoed  again  and  again  to  her  ears.  The  committee  then  held 
a  whispered  consultation  for  a  few  minutes,  in  which  3Ir. 
Swinton  was  very  active,  while  Edith,  arousing  herself  to  conceal 
her  emotion,  prepared  to  leave  the  room.  "  TVait  a  moment, 
if  you  please,"  said  Mr.  Swinton.  And  now  her  attention  was 
newly  arrested  by  a  miniature  which  the  lady  just  before  her 
held  within  her  hand,  —  held  it  carefully,  admiringly,  as 
though  it  possessed  some  talismanic  potency.  Was  it  possi- 
ble that  her  sight  deceived  her  ?  She  brushed  her  eyes  quickly 
with  her  cold  fingers,  and  then  leaned  forward  with  breathless 
interest.  Yes ;  she  could  not  mistake ;  it  was  the  picture  of 
Mr.  AVellmont !  A  new  emotion  replaced  every  other.  But 
Mr.  Swinton  now  came  to  conduct  her  out,  and,  when  well 
beyond  the  hearing  of  the  other  members  of  the  com- 
mittee, expressed  his  disapprobation  of  the  decision,  and 
asserted  he  had  made  vigorous  efforts  to  counteract  and 
reverse  it. 

"  I  am  certain,"  said  he,  "  that  many  of  the  questions  asked 
by  Mr.  Crabtree  were  extraordinary ;  indeed,  I  may  call  them 
excrescences ;  and  I  regard  your  failure  to  answer  them  as 
no  test  of  your  acquirements."  Edith  was  too  much  troubled 
for  words ;  the  tears  would  come,  despite  her  efforts  to  restrain 
her  emotion.  "  If  1  can  yet  do  anything  for  you,"  added  Mr. 
Swinton,  "  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  exert  myself  in  your 
behalf.  And  I  shall  tell  Mr.  Wellmont,  the  next  time  I  see 


EDITH     HALE.  183 

him,  that  his  recommendation  has  lost  none  of  its  truth  in  my 
estimation." 

Edith  murmured  her  thanks. 

"  Dear  me ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Swinton,  as  she  was  about  to  leave 
the  door,  "  how  I  wish  I  could  think  of  something  to  say  which 
would  comfort  you !  for  I  know  just  how  you  feel  —  like  a 
beautiful  rose  that  has  been  held  to  the  olfactory  organs  of  a 
snuff-taker,  and  then  crushed  rudely  in  fragments  between  his 
soiled  fingers !  Now  I  think  of  it,  to  divert  your  attention,  I 
have  a  mind  to  disclose  a  pretty  piece  of  news ;  it  cannot  fail 
to  interest  you,  as  you  are  one  of  Mr.  Wellmont's  friends,  I 
see  by  his  recommendation."  And  Mr.  Swinton  stepped  a 
little  nearer  to  Edith,  as  he  said,  in  a  low  but  animated  voice, 
"  This  lady  you  saw  in  my  parlor  is  engaged  to  marry  Mr. 
Wellmont !  So,  you  have  been  favored  with  the  first  sight  of 
the  future  wife  of  your  minister  !  No  great  loss  without  some 
small  gain,  you  know  !  " 

At  these  words,  so  harmlessly  intended,  yet  so  barbed  with 
fresh  pain  to  Edith,  she  turned  very  pale,  but  smiled  to  con- 
ceal her  suffering,  and  even  found  strength  to  falter  a  hope 
that  Mr.  Wellmont  and  the  parish  might  be  blessed  in  his 
union ;  and  then,  once  more  expressing  her  gratitude  to  Mr. 
Swinton,  left  his  presence. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

ROMANCE  AND  REALITY. 

EDITH  found  that,  by  reason  of  her  long  detention  at  her 
examination,  she  had  missed  the  regular  morning  conveyance, 
by  which  she  had  designed  returning  to  Waterbury,  and  she 
must  now  remain  till  evening,  or  walk  a  distance  of  five  miles. 
She  decided  upon  the  latter  alternative ;  for,  in  her  present 
state  of  mind,  the  prospect  of  extreme  fatigue  was  preferable 
to  that  of  inactivity.  The  first  mile  of  her  walk  was  accom- 
plished rapidly,  under  the  pressure  of  the  excitement  attend- 
ing her  late  disappointment.  But  this  feeling  gradually 
gave  place  to  a  severe  consciousness  of  all  that  she  had 
lost;  and  as  she  proceeded  wearily  upon  her  way,  with  her 
pale  face  bathed  in  tears,  she  exclaimed  to  herself,  "  It  is 
true  of  me,  as  saith  the  Scripture,  « I  will  hedge  up  her  way 
with  thorns,  and  make  a  wall  that  she  shall  not  find  her  paths.' 
For  some  cause,  perhaps  for  that  curse  which  is  promised  to 
children's  children,  I  am  afflicted  above  measure ;"  for  she 
now  remembered  the  words  of  her  mother,  a  short  time  pre- 
vious to  her  death,  concerning  a  shadow  upon  her  father  from 
his  birth.  Utterly  exhausted,  she  sat  down  under  the  shadow 


£DITH     HALE.  185 

of  a  tree,  and  abandoned  herself  to  grief.  Nature  around  her 
was  serene  and  beautiful,  clad  in  the  spring  verdure,  but  its 
quietude  fell  upon  her  heart  as  a  solemn  mockery.  She 
was  so  much  depressed  and  absorbed  in  her  own  bitter  re- 
flections, that  she  soon  became  unconscious  of  all  surrounding 
objects. 

In  the  midst  of  her  gloom,  a  figure  as  of  an  angel  arose 
upon  her  imagination,  with  a  countenance  radiant  with  hal- 
lowed hope.  It  was  like  her  sainted  mother !  Then  came 
into  her  memory,  as  though  whispered  by  the  invisible,  "  I 
will  refine  them  as  silver  is  refined,  and  will  try  them  as  gold 
is  tried  :  they  shall  call  upon  my  name,  and  I  will  hear  them." 
She  thus  remained  a  long  time  within  the  realm  of  a  beauti- 
ful day-dream,  when  her  attention  was  recalled  by  the  sound 
of  carriage-wheels  in  the  distance,  and  she  arose  to  go  on. 

A  slight  rustle  behind  her  attracted  her  notice,  so  that  she 
glanced  round  in'the  direction  from  which  the  noise  proceeded. 
A  huge  snake  was  winding  himself  about  the  trunk  of  the 
tree  against  which  she  had  but  lately  rested,  and  was  evident- 
ly, from  the  repeated  motions  of  his  head  by  way  of  observa- 
tions, making  progress  toward  some  object  of  prey.  Startled 
almost  beyond  control,  she  stood  breathlessly  watching  the 
monster,  till  she  espied  the  object  of  his  search,  —  a  nest  of 
young  birds.  And  now  the  air  was  filled  with  the  piercing 
cries  of  the  mother-bird,  who  had  returned,  and  was  circling 
rapidly  about  the  tree,  while  the  birds  from  all  directions 
came  at  her  call,  and  united  their  screams,  flying  around  the 
16* 


186  EDITH     HALE. 

head  of  Edith,  as  if  imploring  her  to  go  to  the  rescue.  The 
young  birds,  awakened  to  a  sense  of  danger,  were  lifting  their 
little  heads  towards  their  mother  in  the  most  pitiful  manner ; 
and  when  the  snake  had  gained  such  a  position  as  to  thrust 
his  venomous  head  from  a  branch  above  their  nest,  the  cries 
of  all  the  birds  were  so  heart-rending,  that  Edith  overcame 
her  fear,  and  determined  to  impress  the  first  available  object 
near,  to  battle  against  the  enemy. 

The  carriage  had  advanced  without  her  notice,  so  greatly 
had  she  been  absorbed  by  the  scene ;  and  she  was  first  aware 
of  its  proximity  by  a  voice  making  some  inquiry  respect- 
ing the  serpent.  Perceiving  that  it  was  a  gentleman,  she 
asked  his  assistance.  He  quickly  alighted  from  his  carriage, 
and,  with  a  few  vigorous  blows  of  his  whip,  brought  the  snake 
to  the  ground,  while  the  birds  flew  about  him  with  the  most 
joyful  demonstrations.  The  creature,  tenacious  of  life,  sprang 
forward,  and  in  the  struggle  with  his  captor  wound  over  his 
hand,  but  another  blow  stretched  him  lifeless  at  his  feet. 
The  gentleman  smiled  as  he  made  sure  of  his  work,  yet,  with- 
out looking  up,  said  to  Edith,  "  I  hope  I  shall  not  gain  so 
unfavorable  opinion  as  did  Paul  in  Melita,  when  he  threw  the 
viper  from  his  hand."  Then,  turning  towards  Edith,  and, 
studying  her  countenance  a  moment,  he  said,  "  That  ugly 
serpent  has  been  instrumental,  it  seems,  of  introducing  us,  quite 
contrary  to  the  customs  of  society.  Will  you  accept  of  a  ride 
towards  Waterbury,  or  were  you  proceeding  in  the  other 
direction  ?  " 

Edith  replied  that  she  was  also  going  towards  Waterbury ; 


EDITH     HALE.  187 

and  she  accepted  his  offer,  but  not  without  considerable  con- 
fusion. 

Edith  soon  forgot  her  embarrassment  in  the  presence  of 
the  stranger.  She  perceived  that  he  was  no  ordinary  person ; 
for  he  was  one  of  those  men  who  are  termed  distinguished- 
looking,  and  no  one  could  meet  him  without  an  impression  of 
his  superiority.  He  was  neither  young  nor  handsome,  though 
not  yet  in  what  is  termed  middle  age ;  his  features  were  too 
prominent  to  be  symmetrical,  and  his  figure  rather  dignified 
than  graceful.  His  complexion  was  of  that  olive  cast  which 
marks  the  Italians,  yet  devoid  of  its  voluptuous  and  glowing 
softness;  it  was  marked,  instead,  with  that  severity  which 
indicates  the  influences  of  the  rugged  clime  of  the  north. 
The  mouth  was  rather  wide,  and  eloquent  with  expression, 
betraying  great  firmness  of  purpose,  and  curling  with  a  touch 
of  satire.  The  Gjecian  chin,  curved  upwards,  did  not  modify 
this  indication  of  character.  His  eyes  were  dark,  and  deeply 
set  beneath  a  heavy,  almost  fierce-looking  brow,  and  so  bril- 
liant, yet  steady  in  their  light,  they  impressed  with  fear, 
rather  than  mildness.  His  person  was  tall  and  erect,  and 
he  was  attired  rather  negligently,  with  a  slight  dash  of 
eccentricity. 

He  inquired  of  Edith  if  she  had  any  acquaintance  in  Bir- 
hampton.  She  replied  that  she  had  not ;  having  only  met 
the  gentlemen  composing  the  school-committee  of  that  town, 
from  which  meeting  she  was  now  returning. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  he,  with  awakened  interest,  "  you  have  then 
been  arraigned  upon  an  examination  for  a  teacher  ?  I  thought 


188  EDITH     HALE. 

I  perceived,  at  first,  traces  upon  your  countenance  of  a  recent 
unpleasant  encounter  with  something  more  formidable  than  a 
snake." 

Edith  could  not  continue  the  badinage ;  for  the  subject, 
bringing  a  recurrence  of  her  troubles,  impressed  her  too  seri- 
ously. The  stranger  observed  her  look  of  pain,  and,  after  a 
moment's  silence,  said,  in  a  tone  of  kindness,  "  I  am  consid- 
erably interested  in  schools  and  all  that  pertains  to  them, 
although  they  are  not  in  my  line  of  business ;  and,  having 
known  something  of  the  unpleasantness  of  such  examinations, 
allow  me  to  inquire  if,  in  the  result  of  your  interview  this 
morning,  you  have  reason  for  regarding  that  committee  as 
friendly  to  you." 

"  I  have  not,"  replied  Edith,  with  decision ;  "  save  one 
of  the  gentlemen,  whom  I  should  mention  as  an  exception." 

"  Xot  one  of  the  clergymen,  then,  I  presume?"  he  con- 
tinued. 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith  ;  "  I  refer  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Swinton,  of 
the  Second  Church ;  but  he  was  unable  to  influence  the 
others."  She  could  not  trust  herself  to  say  more. 

The  gentleman  comprehended  the  cause  of  her  distress, 
and,  with  sensitive  consideration,  he  changed  the  topic  of  con- 
versation to  that  of  general  literature.  This  embraced  the 
new  books  of  the  season,  upon  which  subject  Edith  was  suf- 
ficiently well  advised  to  speak  with  interest.  Thus  she  soon 
beeanie  engaged  in  an  animated  conversation,  and  her  obser- 
vations upon  several  works  were  so  apposite  as  to  elicit  his 
admiration  and  respect. 


EDITH     HALE.  189 

But  when  he  spoke,  outpouring  some  of  the  treasures  of 
his  own  resources,  seemingly  inexhaustible,  Edith  was  inspired 
with  more  than  admiration  —  even  awe  !  He  was  like  one 
to  whom  all  books  are  familiar ;  but  his  familiarity  was  not 
always  friendship.  To  him  a  book  was  but  a  thing  for  his 
especial  criticism,  and  no  author  was  entirely  faultless.  His 
mind  was  adorned  with  these  works  which  he  had  dissected 
with  his  satire,  as  it  is  related  the  apartment  of  one  of  the 
African  kings  is  paved,  and  the  walls  and  roof  hung  over, 
with  the  skulls  of  his  own  victims  in  war. 

Pages  of  meaning,  such  as  issue  from  ordinary  minds,  he 
expressed  in  a  few  words,  original,  lucid,  and_  forcible.  As 
Edith  listened  with  rapt  attention,  she  said,  at  last,  by  an 
effort  overcoming  her  diffidence,  "  Excuse  me,  sir,  but  my 
opinion  of  you  is  not  very  unlike  the  Melitans  of  Paul,  at 
present." 

"  How  so  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  refer  to  when  the  Scripture  says,  '  They  changed  their 
minds.'  " 

He  smiled,  and,  looking  admiringly  upon  her  face,  which  was 
blooming  a  beautiful  blush-rose,  rejoined,  "  Thanks  for  your 
opinion  ;  but  do  not,  like  the  Melitans,  remember  me  as  a  god 
—  rather  as  a  friend.  Although  I  am  a  stranger,  allow  me  to 
give  you  a  little  advice  derived  from  experience  in  the  trials 
of  life.  From  the  ashes  of  some  plants  a  large  proportion 
of  the  oxide  of  iron  may  be  extracted  ;  so  from  the  ashes  of 
your  disappointed  hopes,  whatever  they  may  be,  derive  the 
iron  of  resolution  and  persevering  faith.  Never  be  wholly 


190  EDITH     HALE. 

cast  down,  whatever  misfortunes  may  come ;  for,  as  the  Bible 
says,  '  If  thou  faint  in  the  day  of  adversity,  thy  strength 
is  small.'  From  your  garb  of  mourning  I  infer  that  you 
have  suffered  before  to-day ;  but  let  that  suffering  only  fit  you 
for  nobler  and  truer  duties.  If  you  have  met  with  opposition 
this  morning,  plume  your  wings  for  a  higher  flight  than  ever 
before ;  for,  as  you  know,  birds  in  flying  require  a  wind  that 
blows  against  them,  and  the  more  contrary  the  wind  the 
higher  can  they  rise. 

'  Like  a  ball  that  bounds 

According  to  the  force  with  which  't  was  thrown  ; 
So,  in  affliction's  violence,  he  that 's  wise, 
The  more  he  's  cast  down,  will  the  higher  rise.' 

By  thus  mastering  obstacles,  you  may  at  last  reach  the 
third  heavens ;  for  the  great  Giver  of  all  things  has  promised 
the  highest  reward  to  those  who  overcome  to  the  end." 

They  had  now  entered  the  village,  and  Edith  expressed  her 
gratitude  less  by  words  than  her  countenance,  as  the  stranger 
assisted  her  to  alight.  "  0,  that  I  had  courage  to  ask  his 
name  ! "  she  said ;  but  the  words  died  away  upon  her  lips, 
as  she  looked  once  more  upon  his  dark,  piercing  eyes.  The 
gentleman  bowed  benignly  as  he  drove  away,  and  left  a  mem- 
ory of  his  countenance,  in  that  latest  moment,  which  was  not 
soon  forgotten. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  him,  nor  ever  shall  see  him  again," 
said  Edith,  sadly,  to  herself. 

She  found  Dr.  Humphrey  in  attendance  upon  Mary,  who 


EDITH     HALE.  191 

had  remained  in  a  state  of  insensibility  for  some  time  after  her 
unhappy  interview  with  Julia.  But  the  doctor  had  succeeded, 
at  last,  in  partially  restoring  her  to  health ;  and  with  the 
introduction  of  old  Mrs.  Linn  at  her  bedside,  —  who  had  ven- 
tured to  leave  her  husband  till  Edith's  return,  —  he  felt  more 
at  ease  about  her.  She  was  now  lying  asleep,  and  so  very 
pale  that  Edith  was  startled,  till  Dr.  Humphrey  reassured  her. 
Her  hair  was  unbound,  and  fell  all  about  the  pillow  just  as 
Edith  had  so  often  seen  it  when  Mary  was  troubled.  "  Poor, 
dear  Mary !  Would  I  had  remained  with  you ! "  said 
Edith,  carefully  removing  a  heavy  tress  from  her  forehead. 

"  Nobody  knows  what  that  dear  child  has  suffered,"  whis- 
pered Mrs.  Linn.  "  I  sometimes  think  it  is  strange  that  one 
in  the  family  must  suffer  so  much  more  than  all  the  rest ; 
but  He  who  permits  it  knows  what  is  best." ' 

During  the  greater  part  of  the  succeeding  night  Edith  sat 
awake  by  the  bedside  of  Mary ;  but,  falling  into  a  light  sleep 
about  midnight,  she  was  disturbed  by  a  sound  which  seemed 
to  proceed  from  the  yard  without.  She  arose  hastily,  and 
glanced  from  the  window.  The  figure  of  a  man  was  gliding 
along  the  lawn,  and  he  stopped  occasionally,  as  if  expecting 
the  appearance  of  some  person. 

She  was  just  proceeding  to  alarm  the  household,  supposing 
some  marauder  was  waiting  for  the  accomplice  in  his  depre- 
dations, when  she  saw  the  figure  spring  forward  and  receive 
into  his  arms  a  female.  A  few  minutes  later,  she  heard  the 
sound  of  carriage-wheels  proceeding  from  the  house,  and  the 
scene  of  romance  by  moonlight  closed. 


192  EDITH     HALE. 

The  next  morning  Celesta  was  missing  from  the  breakfast- 
table,  and,  on  going  for  her  to  her  chamber,  no  trace  of  her 
remained,  save  a  novel,  open  to  a  passage  of  selcctest  love, 
and  turned  down  upon  the  pillow  of  her  bed,  and  a  note 
addressed  to  her  father,  announcing  that  she  had  fled  to  be 
wedded  to  him  whom  alone  her  heart  could  ever  love.  She 
had  chosen  that  manner  of  leaving  home  in  preference  to  any 
other;  and,  although  such  a  step  might  cause  him  infinite 
surprise,  she  devoutly  trusted  that  time  and  reason  would 
overcome  any  unpleasantness  which  might  result  from  her 
departure. 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  Mr.  Pickering,  on  reading  this ;  "  she  need 
not  have  troubled  herself  to  get  married  in  that  manner.  I 
never  opposed  her  marrying  the  man,  for  I  kno.w  nothing 
against  him  ;  but  he  is  an  object  of  pity,  now,  at  any  rate." 

Mrs.  Pickering  professed  to  be  inconsolable,  and  averred 
that  for  some  time  past  she  had  been  troubled  with  a  presen- 
timent of  some  remarkable  event  happening  to  the  house. 
She  was  more  than  compensated  for  the  loss,  however,  by  the 
prospect  of  such  an  accession  to  the  family  as  Mr.  Raymond ; 
for,  since  the  receipt  of  her  letter,  Julia  had  given  out  that 
she  was  as  good  as  engaged  to  him.  To  consummate  her 
triumph,  Mr.  Pickering  came  home  a  few  days  later,  with  a 
letter,  which  he  read  aloud  to  his  wife  and  Julia,  in  the  greatest 
good  humor. 

It  was  from  Horace  Raymond,  who,  after  announcing  the 
death  of  his  father,  and  the  fact  that  he  should  be  prevented 
from  teaching  the  next  term  in  Waterbury,  in  consequence 


EDITH     IIALE.  193 

of  assuming  his  father's  business,  asked  Mr.  Pickering  for 
the  hand  of  his  daughter  in  marriage.  "  She  must  have 
inferred,  by  my  last  letter,  which  was  direct  and  explicit,  that 
such  was  my  intention,"  it  ran  ;  "  and,  although  etiquette  may 
suggest  that  the  acquaintance  should  be  prolonged  before 
marriage,  the  state  of  my  affairs  makes  it  at  present^  difficult 
for  me  to  leave  home ;  and  my  affection,  and  the  desire  to 
perfect  her  education  by  introducing  her  to  the  superior 
advantages  of  the  city,  render  it  desirable  that  the  union  take 
place  as  soon  as  possible,  if  with  3-0111-  permission."  The 
letter  also  stated  that  he  should  visit  them  within  a  short  time, 
and  would  receive  his  answer  in  person. 

"Nothing  could  better  please  me  than  to  have  Mr.  Ray- 
mond in  my  family,"  _said  Mr.  Pickering ;  "  but  it  is  a  mys- 
tery to  me,  Julia,  how  you  ever  won  him.  I  used  to  think, 
if  he  loved  either  of  you,  it  was  Mary,  poor  child !  but  his 
attention  and  kindness  to  her  was  because  she  was  your  sister, 
I  suppose." 

"  Just  think,  papa,  of  that  elegant  man,  with  his  splendid 
fortune,  fancying  such  a  girl  as  our  Mary  for  a  wife !  "  exclaimed 
Julia,  with  ineffable  scorn." 

"  Well,  I  am  little  used  to  such  affairs,"  rejoined  her  father, 
"  and  I  suppose  I  might  have  known  better  if  I  had  stopped 
to  think.  However,  Mary  is  more  of  a  girl  than  people  gener- 
ally give  her  credit  for  being.  How  well  she  appeared  at  the 
close  of  the  academy !  " 

"  She  thinks  quite  too  much  of  herself,  since  she  commenced 
17 


194  EDITH     HALE. 

attending  that  school,"  said  Julia ;  "  and  I  shall  soon  bring 
Horace  to  conduct  himself  towards  her  more  becomingly." 

And  now  Julia  had  acquired  great  accession  of  importance 
in  the  family,  and  even  in  the  village ;  for  the  intelligence 
of  her  approaching  marriage  was  rapidly  circulated.  All 
wondered  at  Mr.  Raymond's  choice ;  for  one  so  artificial  and 
devoid  of  solidity  of  character  seemed  unsuitable,  even  to  the 
most  unobserving,  for  such  a  thoroughly-educated  and  excel- 
lent man  as  he  appeared. 

"  Things  allers  go  by  contraries  in  love  matters,"  said  Father 
Shaw,  speaking  of  the  contemplated  marriage. 

"But  even  the  wisest  men  are  such  fools  about  marry- 
ing !  "  said  Miss  Leah  ;  "  they  are  sure  to  choose  wives  whose 
brains  are  no  better  than  a  cobweb,  and  who  are  so  silly 
they  ought  to  shame  their  husbands  every  time  they  open  their 
mouths." 

Every  mantua-maker  and  seamstress  was  engaged  for  the 
preparation  of  the  trousseau ;  and  it  was  confidently  whis- 
pered, by  Julia's  few  intimate  friends,  that  the  most  magnif- 
icent wedding  that  ever  was  witnessed  in  Watcrbury  would 
come  off. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  all  this  would  escape  the 
ears  of  the  invalid  Mary.  Edith,  divining  the  state  of  her 
friend's  affections  at  this  crisis,  strove  by  every  means  to 
shield  her  from  the  knowledge ;  but  a  friend  happening  in  to 
see  Mary,  by  a  single  question  concerning  Julia's  engagement 
disclosed  the  whole  affair  to  her.  But  it  came  not  upon  her 
now  as  a  crushing  blow,  for  she  had  expected  as  much  since 


EDITH     HALE.  195 

that  hour  when  Julia  had  triumphantly  shown  her  the  letter 
addressed  to  herself.  From  the  time  of  her  subsequent 
recovery  of  her  self-possession,  she  had  striven  to  conquer  the 
weakness  of  her  heart,  and  school  herself  to  greater  endurance. 
This  was  the  first  secret  she  had  withheld  from  Edith ;  — 
it  was  too  sacred  to  be  intrusted  to  any  keeping,  save  that  of 
Him  who  knoweth  the  hearts  of  all. 

She  brought  herself  now  to  speak  with  perfect  tranquillity 
to  Edith  of  the  approaching  marriage  of  her  sister.  Sur- 
prised at  this  new  and  beautiful  revelation  of  character,  Edith 
folded  her  to  her  heart  more  tenderly  and  closely  than  ever. 
From  the  trying  experiences  of  her  life  she  knew  well  how 
to  sympathize  with  her  friend;  but  she  had  prayed  for 
strength  to  subdue  the  pangs  of  disappointment  to  silent  and 
calm  endurance,  and  her  prayer  had  not  returned  unto  her 
void. 

"  Yes,  dear  Edith,"  said  Mary,  in  reply  to  her  inquiry, 
"  I  can  feel  that  it  is  all  right  now  as  it  i.s,  though  I  cannot 
see  clearly  the  mysterious  purpose  of  our  destiny.  But  I 
have  come  to  feel  that  he  who  governs  them  is  my  best 
friend,  and  can  do  me  no  evil. 

"  Mr.  Raymond  was  my  first  friend,  after  yourself,  who 
met  me  upon  a  common  ground  of  kindness  and  love  —  as  I 
thought ;  but  I  was  mistaken  in  that.  As  he  was  so  superior 
to  other  men,  I  worshipped  him.  When  my  idol  was  taken 
from  me,  I  was  rebellious,  for  I  had  been  trampled  so  long 
that  I  suppose  I  was  more  tenacious  of  my  transient  eleva- 
tion. I  was  so  ill,  and'  weak-hearted,  too,  how  could  I  bear 


196  EDITH     HALE. 

it  all  as  I  should  have  done  ?  But,  as  I  lay  apparently  in- 
Bensible,  and  utterly  powerless  to  act  for  myself,  I  was  so 
awed  and  stricken  at  the  idea  of  losing  my  mind  entirely,  that 
I  vowed  to  God,  if  he  would  restore  me  to  a  full  possession 
of  my  faculties,  I  would  devote  them  all  to  him.  He  heard 
my  prayer ;  and  I  now  daily  pray  that  I  may  be  able  to  keep 
that  vow.  In  the  strength  of  this  new  grace,  which  has  been 
given  me  from  heaven,  I  feel  that  I  can  endure  any  sacrifice 
without  repining.  And,  more  than  all,  I  can,  for  the  first 
time,  forgive  all  those  who  have  trespassed  against  me.  Even 
toward  Julia,  who  has  always  shown  the  most  unkindness 
to  me,  I  can  feel  no  enmity.  And,  dear  Edith,  I  can  say,  as 
did  the  apostle,  '  I  know  that  this  shall  turn  to  my  salvation 
through  your  prayer,  and  the  supply  of  the  spirit  of  Jesus 
Christ.' " 

By  all  the  love  and  faith  of  Edith's  heart  did  she  encour- 
age Mary  to  persevere  in  the  blessed  work  she  had  begun ; 
and  the  good  thus  bestowed  upon  her  was  returned  to  her 
many  fold.  Other  blessings  were  also  bestowed  upon  Edith, 
as  an  encouragement  for  her  resolution  to  persevere  amid  all 
her  crosses  and  trials. 

Within  that  week  she  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Swinton, 
stating  that  on  the  day  following  her  examination  he  had  been 
waited  upon  by  a  stranger,  who  had  made  minute  inquiries 
respecting  "  the  young  lady  who  had  been  rejected  by  the 
school-committee."  As  several  had  been  rejected,  he  was  at 
length  made  to  understand  that  Edith  was  the  one  to  whom 
the  gentleman  referred,  by  his  representing  her  as  the  one  who 


EDITH     HALE.  197 

resided  in  "Waterbury,  and  who  wore  mourning.  The  stranger 
said  that  he  had  it  in  his  power  to  recommend  a  teacher  to 
assist  in  a  celebrated  private  school,  and,  if  she  was  consid- 
ered as  qualified  by  him,  he  could  direct  her  to  a  person  who 
would  engage  her. 

"  And  I  am  most  happy  to  announce  to  you,"  continued 
Mr.  Swinton,  "  that  if  you  acquiesce  in  the  proposal,  you  are 
engaged  to  teach  for  the  ensuing  term,  for  I  spared  no  pains 
in  your  behalf.  I  endeavored  to  ascertain  the  name  of  the 
person  who  manifested  such  a  generous  interest  for  you,  but 
this  he  refused,  giving  no  account  of  himself,  save  that,  as 
he  was  proceeding  to  the  residence  of  a  relative  in  these 
parts,  he  overtook  you  by  the  way,  and  conveyed  you  home. 
I  congratulate  you  upon  your  excellent  fortune,  for  the  situa- 
tion is  every  way  greatly  preferable  to  that  which  you  lost. 
And  that  your  way  through  all  future  time  may  be  hedged 
with  roses,  is  the  prayer  of  your  obedient  servant, 

"Z.  E.  L.  SWLVTOX." 

Edith  found  enclosed  the  directions  by  which  she  was  to 
proceed,  written  by  the  stranger  for  Mr.  Swinton.  AVith 
gratitude  and  joy  she  lost  no  time  in  securing  the  situation. 

On  the  following  Sabbath,  which  was  the  last  day  before 
her  departure,  she  entered  the  church  in  the  morning,  when 
but  few  people  were  assembled,  —  a  custom  especially  dear 
to  her  from  old  associations,  —  and,  collecting  her  thoughts 
for  devotion,  awaited  the  opening  of  the  services.  The  or- 
ganist was  playing  a  favorite  tune,  time-worn,  yet  ever 


198  EDITH     HALE. 

beautiful  and  hallowed.  The  majestic  music,  with  its  alter- 
nate beauty  and  pathos,  she  likened  to  hoary  mountains, 
whose  heights,  broken  into  fantastic  forms,  divide  the  clouds, 
and  are  clothed  to  their  base  with  luxuriant  grasses  and 
arborescent  ferns,  interspersed  with  gigantic  palms.  Down 
from  these  solemn  summits  she  saw  angels,  white-robed  and 
glorious,  descend  with  harmonious  step,  and,  looking  upward, 
fold  their  silver  wings  before  their  faces. 

These  imaginations  were  somewhat  assisted  by  the  impres- 
sion of  the  surrounding  world  without.  The  tall  old  oaks, 
elms,  and  sycamores,  bordering  the  mall  of  the  village,  some 
of  the  branches  of  which  shaded  the  church-windows,  in  the 
strong  breezes  of  the  spring  morning  filled  all  the  air  with 
deep,  recurrent  sound ;  while  the  great  pile  of  clouds,  moving 
across  the  sky,  were  occasionally  visible  above  and  among 
the  trees. 

The  sound  of  the  bell  overhead  brought  many  memories 
of  the  blessed  days  when  she  had  sat  there  between  her  be- 
loved parents  and  marvelled  about  heaven  and  the  angels. 
She  was  reminded,  too,  of  that  morning  when  their  minister 
had  first  ascended  those  pulpit-steps,  and  her  impression  of  his 
appearance ;  then  of  the  sad  changes  that  had  come  to  her 
since. 

While  she  thus  mused,  the  congregation  had  assembled,  and 
her  attention  was  at  length  attracted  by  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
Wellmont  advancing  up  the  aisle  with  a  lady,  whom  he  seated 
in  the  pew  reserved  for  the  minister's  family.  Immediately 
this  lady  became  the  cynosure  of  every  eye,  and  the  details 


EDITH     HALE.  199 

of  her  dress  and  appearance  were  imprinted  upon  the  memory 
of  every  other  lady  present.  All  saw  that  she  was  dressed 
showily.  Her  white  bridal  hat  was  of  the  costliest  materials, 
and  was  adorned  airily  with  exquisite  laces,  such  as  had  never 
been  seen  before  in  TVaterbury.  And  her  shawl  was  so  elegant 
that  no  one  could  decide  upon  its  fabric. 

It  had  already  been  rumored  in  the  village  that  the  wife 
of  Mr.  "Wellmont  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  merchant 
of  a  distant  city,  who  had  been  introduced  to  him  by  her 
cousin,  Mr.  Swinton.  The  minds  of  the  people  were  divided 
upon  the  circumstances  of  her  history.  Some  of  the  most 
fashionable  portion  were  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  such  an 
acquisition  to  their  society ;  but  many  of  the  plain,  elderly 
people  hoped,  if  she  were  a  rich  man's  child,  she  would  not 
bring  any  grand  airs  or  modes  among  them,  to  make  the  young 
people  envious,  extravagant,  and  worldly. 

As  Edith  observed  with  the  rest,  she  said  to  herself,  "  Yes, 
he  has  chosen  well;  for,  at  least,  it  seems  fitting  that  Mr. 
"VVellmont  should  wed  such  splendor  and  reputation  as  this, 
rather  than  one  of  my  poverty  and  insignificance.  Alas. !  I 
should  never  have  indulged  such  an  expectation  had  he  not 
shown  me  repeated  manifestations  of  interest ;  but  the  folly 
ef  construing  them  as  indicating  love,  against  which  my  dying 
mother  warned  me,  merits  the  punishment  that  I  now  receive." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

MBS.    WELLMONT. 

THE  induction  of  the  wife  of  Mr.  Wellmont  to  the  new 
duties  of  society  was  quite  an  event  in  Waterbury.  The 
wife  of  their  former  minister  had  been  a  meek,  unassuming 
woman,  who  had  gone  in  and  out  among  them  as  nearly  with- 
out reproach  as  it  is  possible  for  one  in  the  position.  She  had 
dressed  in  great  simplicity,  guarded  her  words  so  as  to  give 
offence  to  none,  and  manifested  no  disinclination  to  submit 
all  her  affairs,  public  and  domestic,  to  the  supervision  and 
friendly  advice  of  those  persons  of  the  parish  who  had  a 
decided  talent  for  such  occupation.  The  general  impression 
of  this  excellent  woman  was,  therefore,  that  she  had  been 
very  much  elevated  in  attaining  the  position  of  a  minister's 
wife,  and  she  never  could  be  thankful  enough.  They  were, 
consequently,  ill-prepared  for  the  advent  of  a  lady  among 
them  like  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

The  first  weeks  of  her  residence  in  the  place,  she  boarded, 
with  her  husband,  in  the  family  of  Mr.  Phanuel,  until  suitable 
arrangements  could  be  made  for  housekeeping.  A  few  of 
the  most  prominent  people  of  the  society  had  called  upon  her ; 


EDITH     HALE.  201 

and,  when  Mr.  Wellmont  had  been  present,  they  had  received 
no  particularly  unfavorable  impression  of  their  interview,  for 
he  possessed  a  happy  faculty  of  rendering  conversation  ani- 
mated and  interesting  without  apparent  effort.  But  the  people 
could  generally  discern  very  little  of  their  minister's  wife. 
She  appeared  to  them  at  such  a  distance,  giving  an  impression 
of  something  lofty  and  unattainable,  —  attired  richly  and 
showily,  like  those  tropical  mountain-palms,  whose  trunks  are 
profusely  decorated.  They  felt  it  not  to  be  that  loftiness 
which  results  from  a  chilling  and  abiding  consciousness  of 
superiority,  but  rather  an  accomplished  indifference,  spiced 
occasionally  with  satire. 

When  Miss  Leah  Shaw  called  upon  Mrs.  "Wellmont,  she 
divided  her  attention  between  some  embroidery  —  on  which 
she  always  seemed  engaged  within  doors  —  and  little  Bessie, 
the  youngest  child  of  Mr.  Phanuel,  while  Mr.  Wellmont  was 
left  to  sustain  the  conversation.  As  Miss  Leah  had  long  been 
accustomed  to  universal  attention  and  deference,  this  recep- 
tion was  very  displeasing  to  her.  Miss  Leah  had  come  to 
give  Mrs.  Wellmont  an  especial  invitation  to  meet  with  the 
Dorcas  Benevolent  Society ;  and  stating,  with  her  u,sual  accu- 
racy, the  principal  object,  and  other  business  matters  con- 
nected with  said  society,  expected  her  approbation  of  such  a 
valuable  body,  and  her  consequent  active  pooperation. 

When  Mrs.  Wellmont  heard  the  name  of  the  society 
announced,  she  actually  laughed,  with  a  glance  at  her  husband 
of  unfeigned  sarcasm. 

"Mrs.  Wellmont  is  not  yet  acquainted  with  our  good 


202  EDITH     HALE. 

objects,  Miss  Shaw,"  remarked  Mr.  Wellmont,  striving  to 
mitigate  the  impression  which  he  felt  that  his  wife  was  unfor- 
tunately making  upon  a  person  of  so  much  consequence  in  the 
parish.  "  When  she  becomes  better  initiated,  she  will  fully 
appreciate  their  interests." 

"  Come  here,  pet,"  said  Mrs.  Wellmont,  at  this  juncture,  to 
little  Bessie.  "  Is  not  this  dog  I  am  working  pretty  ?  See 
how  green  are  its  eyes,  and  pink  the  tip  of  its  nose !  Bow  ! 
wow  !  " —  making  a  gesture  as  if  the  dog  were  springing  at 
the  child.  Little  Bessie  was  highly  animated  with  the  play, 
but  not  more  so  than  Mrs.  Wellmont ;  so  that  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  Mr.  Wellmont  could  proceed  to  converse.  No 
words  can  do  justice  to  the  emotions  of  Miss  Leah  under  such 
circumstances.  But  it  did  not  matter  to  Mrs.  Wellmont,  who 
had  no  idea  of  taking  the  trouble  to  please  a  person  with  such 
an  unfashionable  aspect. 

"  We  will  be  sure  to  attend  your  meeting,  Miss  Shaw," 
remarked  Mr.  Wellmont,  as  she  arose  to  leave ;  "  and,  in  the 
mean  time,  accept  our  most  hearty  wishes  for  the  success  of 
your  benevolent  efforts." 

Miss  Leah  walked  home  even  more  stiffly  than  ever ;  and, 
with  tearful  eyes,  she  said  to  herself,  "  If  the  care  of  the  cause 
of  Zion  is  to  be  shared  with  that  woman,  how  will  its  ways 
mourn !  Mr.  Wellmont  is  an  excellent  man ;  but,  what 
promise  have  we  in  such  a  minister's  wife  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Bertrade  !  "  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  when  they  had 
retired  to  their  private  parlor,  "  could  you  not  have  been  a 


EDITH     HALE.  203 

little  more  gracious  to  Miss  Shaw  ?  I  am  fearful  she  left  us 
quite  wounded." 

"  If  such  a  woman  as  that  is  one  of  your  first  ladies,  it 
would  be  a  curiosity  to  see  the  last ! "  rejoined  Mrs.  Well- 
mont.  "  She  was  so  comical  in  her  old-maidish  ways,  espe- 
cially when  she  marched  up  to  me,  so  quick  and  straight,  after 
her  introduction,  and  delivered  a  long  tirade  of  welcome  to 
the  parish,  —  her  parish,  I  should  infer,  she  thinks  !  When 
she  paused  to  take  breath,  I  had  a  mind  to  ask  her  if  that 
were  all,  or  had  she  forgotten  a  sentence  !  " 

Mr.  YVellmont's  feelings  were  now  scarcely  less  injured  than 
were  those  of  Miss  Leah ;  but  he  forbore  to  make  further 
comment,  —  taking  a  book  from  his  library,  and  sitting  down 
to  read.  But,  as  he  read  for  an  hour  and  turned  no  leaves, 
it  is  scarcely  probable  that  his  reflections  were  concentrated 
upon  what  he  read.  He  was  at  length  aroused  from  his 
revery  by  his  wife,  who  began  humming  an  opera-tune,  and 
ended  by  saying,  "  If  you  take  the  liberty  to  criticize  me,  I 
may  presume  I  have  an  equal  privilege  with  you." 

Mr.  Wellmont  lifted  his  eyes  from  his  book,  in  curiosity. 

"  I  notice  your  manner,  on  various  occasions,  is  decidedly 
ill-bred.  I  should  know,  in  fact,  that  you  had  not  been 
accustomed  to  society  in  high  life.  At  the  table,  for  instance, 
you  carry  your  food  to  your  mouth  with  your  knife,  instead 
of  your  fork ;  so  that  I  have  looked  several  times  to  see  if 
you  had  not  wounded  your  lips.  You  pour  your  coffee  and 
tea  into  and  drink  from  the  saucer,  instead  of  the  cup ;  and 


204  EDITH     HALE. 

several  times  you  hare  wholly  forgotten  to  use  your  napkin. 
Such  ways  are  positively  shocking  !  " 

"  Positively  shocking,  certainly ! "  said  Mr.  Wellmont, 
trying  to  smile,  but  failing  in  the  attempt. 

"  "T  is  folly,  only,  and  defect  of  sense, 

Turns  trifles  into  things  of  consequence.'  " 

"These  are  not  trifles,  in  my  eyes,  I  assure  you,  as  you 
might  have  known  from  the  fact  of  my  mentioning  them. 
And  it  seems  it  is  a  light  matter,  in  your  regard,  to  hurt  my 
feelings ;  while  it  is  of  the  greatest  importance  that  a  person 
like  that  Miss  Leah  be  pleased,  who,  like  her  Scripture  name- 
sake, is  '  tender-eyed,'  and  otherwise  beautiful  in  person,  as 
well  as  manner  !  " 

"  No,  no,  Bertrade  ! "  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  now  taking  a 
seat  beside  her.  "  You  must  know  well  I  mean  nothing  of 
the  kind.  I  only  wish  that  you  would  be  a  little  more  care- 
ful to  please  our  people ;  for  a  minister  and  his  family  are 
not  independent,  like  others." 

"  It  will  be  discovered  here,"  retorted  the  lady,  tapping  her 
embroidered  white  slipper  violently  upon  the  carpet,  "  that 
one  minister's  wife  is  not  made  to  cringe  to  such  people,  if 
others  usually  are  !  " 

"  Xow,  my  dear,  these  airs  of  yours  are  of  no  sort  of  con- 
sequence with  me  or  my  people  ;  so  you  had  better  put  them 
away  with  your  finest  wardrobe  at  once,  and  leave  them  for 
city  use.  Just  be  natural,  be  true  to  the  religion  of  the 
meek  and  lowly  Jesus,  and  the  aspect  of  things  about  you  will 


EDITH     HALE.  205 

be  very  different  to  you.  Certainly  you  will  appear  different 
to  others,  and  infinitely  more  amiable,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont, 
in  good-humor. 

"  Pray,  sir,  be  aware  that  you  are  not  schooling  a  servant ! 
I  have  not  been  used  to  homilies ! "  replied  his  wife,  in  no 
wise  softened. 

Mr.  "Wellmont  looked  upon  the  woman  beside  him,  whom 
he  had  chosen  to  be  his  companion  and  helpmeet  for  all  the 
remainder  of  his  life,  with  profound  astonishment  and  melan- 
choly prescience.  In  the  brief  interviews  of  their  courtship 
she  had  not  discovered  this  phase  of  character :  the  claws  had 
been  effectually  concealed  by  the  velvety  guise  of  politeness. 
How  often,  in  his  college  days,  had  he  boasted  to  his  compan- 
ions of  his  knowledge  of  human  nature,  as  a  protection 
against  an  unaniiable  or  undesirable  companion  for  a  wife ! 
He  now  thought  of  the  gentle,  noble,  and  interesting  girl, 
whose  only  fault  had  been  a  want  of  position  and  fortune,  and 
the  contrast  between  her  and  this  petted  child  of  affluence 
smote  him  to  the  heart. 

"  It  is  not  only  for  this  month,  or  the  next,  but  for  a  life  ! " 
he  groaned,  in  the  bitterness  of  his  spirit,  as  he  appeared  to 
resume  his  reading.  But  the  reading,  nay,  the  very  presence 
of  his  wife,  would  not  contribute  now  to  calm  his  excited  feel- 
ings. He  retired  alone  to  meditate  and  pray,  as  usual  when 
in  seasons  of  perplexity ;  and,  as  usual,  the  blessings  which  he 
sought  were  not  withheld.  Peace,  —  calm  and  holy,  —  for- 
bearance, and,  above  all,  that  charity  "  which  suffereth  long, 
18 


206  EDITH     HALE. 

and  is  kind,"  gradually  possessed  his  soul  with  renewed 
fervor. 

"  She  is  unused  to  the  country,"  he  said,  "  and  these  new 
people  and  customs  are  not  quite  consonant  with  her  temper- 
ament ;  but  she  will  assimilate  herself  to  them  in  time.  I 
recollect  that,  at  first,  I  was  not  at  all  favorably  impressed 
with  Miss  Shaw,  myself." 

A  short  time  after  this,  Mr.  "NVellmont  called,  with  his  wife, 
upon  the  families  of  Deacon  Dennis  and  Mr.  Pickering ;  and 
he  observed  that  she  was  very  well  entertained,  and  evidently 
quite  pleased  with  Mrs.  Pickering  and  her  daughters  Claudine 
and  Julia.  Mrs.  Wellmont  was  much  caressed  and  admired 
by  these  ladies ;  but  their  attentions  were  received  by  her  as  a 
matter  of  course,  but  yet  very  graciously. 

"  I  think  I  shall  like  the  Dennises  well,  and  the  Pickerings 
very  much,"  she  said  to  her  husband,  afterwards. 

"  I  am  very  glad,  my  dear ;  and,  doubtless,  you  will  find 
many  others  equally  agreeable,  and  even  more  valuable,"  he 
replied. 

"  Yet  it  is  to  be  hoped,"  he  mused,  "  my  wife  will  not  be 
one  of  those  ladies  who  have  '  dear  intimates '  and  '  especial 
favorites.'  It  will  not  do  at  all  for  the  wife  of  a  minister. 
Confidential  friends,  of  some  kind,  I  suppose  she  must  have, 
as  she  is  young  and  without  experience ;  but  I  hope,  of  all 
others  in  my  parish,  they  will  not  be  the  Pickerings,  with 
their  airiness,  or  the  Dennises,  with  their  pride." 

He  durst  not  advise  in  this  matter,  however,  after  his 
experience  of  the  danger  of  such  a  proceeding. 


EDITH     HALE.  207 

The  meeting  of  the  Dorcas  Benevolent  Society  came.  Mr. 
Wellmont  proposed  to  his  wife  that  they  should  attend  at  an 
early  hour,  that  he  might  have  ample  opportunity  of  present- 
ing her  to  the  ladies ;  to  which  Mrs.  Wellmont  replied,  with  a 
look  of  disdainful  compassion  at  his  ignorance  of  the  customs 
of  fashionable  society,  "  he  might  go,  if  he  chose,  directly 
after  dinner ;  but  she  should  not  appear  there  till  about  a 
half-hour  before  tea." 

"  My  dear  Bertrade,"  remonstrated  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  al- 
though such  may  be  the  mode  of  some  particular  persons  in 
the  circle  to  which  you  have  been  accustomed,  it  will  not 
answer  here.  Miss  Shaw  will  be  offended  if  we  adopt  such 
formality." 

"  Miss  Shaw  again  set  up  for  my  standard  !  "  interrupted 
Mrs.  Wellmont.  "  It  had  been  better  to  have  selected  her 
for  your  wife,  instead  of  one  so  much  inferior  in  knowledge  of 
Waterbury  etiquette  as  myself !  " 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  wounded  again ;  for,  naturally  sensitive, 
and  desirous  of  love  and  peace  with  all,  he  was  not  one  of 
those  men  who  can  hear  hard  words  unmoved.  He  loved  to 
be  loved ;  whereas,  some  men  are  careless  whether  they  are 
loved  or  hated.  His  mother  had  guided  him  to  manhood 
with  a  loving,  even  hand ;  and  he  had  acquired  from  her 
influence  a  cheerful  temper,  disposed  to  look  upon  the  bright 
side  of  everything,  and  make  the  best  of  the  other  side  when 
it  came.  To  this  new  phase  of  character  discovered  by  his 
wife,  however,  he  was  all  unused ;  and  this  capricious  harsh- 
ness grated  upon  his  soul,  by  nature  harmonious  and  delicately 


208  EDITH    HALE. 

organized,  not  less  than  the  ear  of  an  exquisite  musician  is 
disturbed  by  the  discord  produced  by  an  unskilful  hand. 
Escaping  from  the  irksome  companionship,  he  went  out  for  a 
short  walk,  scarcely  conscious  whither  he  directed  his  steps. 
He  returned  by  way  of  the  cemetery,  where  he  paused  a  few 
moments  for  reflection.  The  pines  were  as  odorous  and 
melancholy  as  ever,  and  a  late  rain  had  left  all  nature  in  tears. 
It  had  also  darkened  the  wood  of  the  trees,  the  iron  pales, 
and  the  hard  paths,  so  that  they  wore  a  deeper  cast  of  gloom. 
The  grass  was  growing  silently  and  solemnly  above  the  closed 
eyes  of  the  dead.  Violets,  each  with  a  tear  trembling  in  its 
heart,  pale  wind-flowers  and  silvery  mosses,  hung  meekly 
along  the  ridge  of  earth  which  marked  the  graves,  like  the 
fringes  of  angels'  robes.  The  stream  which  flowed  beside  the 
ground  down  into  the  green  meadows  below,  —  even  as  the 
fabled  tenth  arm  of  the  ocean,  with  its  sources,  flowed  around 
the  earth  from  the  palace  of  rocks  and  descended  into  the  lower 
regions, — was  swollen  to  a  deep  and  solemn  murmur,  running 
swiftly  and  darkly  under  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  pines. 

"  Here  the  dead  sleep  peacefully,"  thought  Mr.  Wellmont ; 
"  no  more  disturbed  by  the  cares,  and  sorrows,  and  passions, 
of  life.  It  is  well  to  lie  down  thus  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth 
when  our  work  is  done."  Thoughts  of  the  unfitness  and 
insignificance  of  worldly  vexations  naturally  recurred  to  his 
mind.  "  How  soon  will  it  all  have  passed, —  this  busy,  cark- 
ing  life,  —  and  then  I  shall  look  back  and  marvel  that  I  was 
ever  overcome  or  daunted  by  such  trifles  as  now  disturb  the 
tranquillity  of  my  soul !"  he  said.  "  My  chief  efforts  should 


EDITH     HALE.  209 

be  to  seek,  by  the  grace  of  God,  to  prepare  myself  and  the 
souls  committed  to  my  care  for  the  great  and  last  change ; 
not  to  selfishly  strive  to  build  up  my  own  fame  and  happiness. 
Here  I  feel  that  the  pride  of  earth  vanishes  to  nothing  ;  and, 
over  all,  arises  the  aspiration  for  that  glorious  benediction, 
'  Come,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father.  *  *  *  Inasmuch  as  ye 
have  done  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye 
have  done  it  unto  me.'  For  this  henceforth  let  me  ardently 
strive,  and  whatever  obstacles  I  meet  may  I  overcome  with 
love,  forbearance,  and  faith !  "  Thus  early  was  the  bright  and 
strong  hope  of  earthly  happiness,  of  which  he  had  passionately 
dreamed  in  the  morning  of  life,  returned  unto  him  sullied  and 
broken,  never  to  be  beautiful  more  !  But,  instead,  the  hope 
of  spiritual  peace  was  growing  brighter  and  stronger  until 
the  perfect  day.  Ah  !  woe  to  the  disappointed  heart  which 
has  no  such  hope  ! 

lie  had  unconsciously  reached  a  small  lot,  in  a  retired 
location,  enclosed  by  a  young  hedge  of  evergreens,  with  a 
plain  white  stone  to  mark  two  graves.  Some  old  association 
arrested  his  steps.  He  turned,  and  read  upon  the  stone : 

"  In  memory  of  Blanchard  and  Edith  Hale.  Erected  by 
Edith.  The  sufferings  of  this  present  life  are  not  worthy  to 
be  compared  with  the  glory  which  shall  be  revealed  in  us. 
Awake  and  sing,  ye  that  dwell  in  the  dust !  " 

The  eyes  of  Mr.  AVellmont  suffused  with  tears  as  he  mur- 
mured, "Though  dead,  that  blessed  woman  yet  speaks  to 
me,  in  her  old,  heavenly  manner,  words  of  consolation  and 
hope."  Long  did  he  linger  about  that  spot,  as  one  in  a  dream ; 
18* 


210  EDITH     HALE. 

and  not  till  he  had  prayed  and  gathered  strength  to  meet  the 
world,  did  he  turn  away.  On  returning  to  his  home,  he 
found  his  wife  dressed,  and  waiting  for  him  to  accompany 
her  to  the  meeting  of  the  society. 

"  I  began  to  think  you  had  gone  and  drowned  yourself,  in 
despair  of  pleasing  the  ladies  of  the  Dorcas  Benevolent,"  she 
said  to  him. 

"  I  scarcely  dare  to  look  at  you,  Bertrade,  you  are  so 
dazzling  in  full  dress,"  he  smilingly  rejoined. 

"  Am  I  ?  "  she  said,  in  excellent  humor ;  for  nothing  could 
better  please  her  than  this  compliment. 

"  I  would  suggest,  however,  — "  he  began ;  but,  losing 
courage,  he  stopped. 

"  What  now,  my  lord  ?  Are  not  my  curls  disposed  in 
order  ?  Is  my  mouchoir  too  much  perfumed  ?  Or,  shall  I 
add  those  exquisite  earrings  my  cousin  Frank  bestowed  as  a 
bridal  gift?" 

"0,  nothing  of  the  kind  !  I  only  feared  that  you  were 
too  finely  dressed ;  that  brocade  with  laces  is  very  showy,  with 
your  jewels,  —  at  least,  for  such  a  place  as  this,"  he  said. 

The  lady  bit  her  lip  with  vexation.  "  You  would  prefer  to 
have  me  copy  Miss  Shaw  ?  " 

In  silence  Mr.  Wellmont  commenced  his  preparations, 
which  were  soon  completed,  and  he  announced  himself  ready 
to  attend  her. 

"  You  look  like  a  scavenger,  with  your  collar  awry,  and 
your  hair  unbrushed  !  "  remarked  Mrs.  Wellmont. 


EDITH     HALE.  211 

"  I  quite  forgot  my  hair !  "  said  Mr.  "Wellmont,  returning 
to  the  mirror. 

"  I  have  n't  forgotten  it,  by  any  means,"  his  wife  rejoined ; 
"  for  that  was  what  I  fell  in  love  with,  at  first.  I  am  likely, 
however,  to  fall  out  again,  by  the  way  you  keep  it  of  late. 
But  men  grow  careless  after  marriage,  as  I  have  often  heard." 

"  I  must  not  expect  to  retain  a  love  founded  upon  a  fancy 
so  uncertain,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  in  his  usual  good-humor. 
''  Bad  looking  hair  is  rather  characteristic  of  a  good  head 
under  it ;  and  care  of  the  chevelure  is  no  mark  of  excellence. 
It  is  said  that  the  foretops  of  all  Dr.  Johnson's  wigs  were 
burned  off  by  the  use  of  the  candle  in  reading." 

"  How  tiresome ! "  exclaimed  his  wife,  petulantly.  "  I 
believe  you  are  always  quoting  some  dull  things  from  some 
dull  book  just  when  it  would  be  least  expected  of  you.  You 
do  not  open  your  mouth  without  letting  out  these  long  strings 
of  brilliant  sentiments,  just  as  a  conjurer  blows  out  ribbons 
of  fire.  Why  can't  you  enter  into  my  spirit  a  little  ?  " 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  evidently  very  much  amused  at  some 
thought  now  suggested.  His  wife  observed  him  with  un- 
feigned curiosity ;  but  he  seemed  at  a  doubt  about  the  expe- 
diency of  saying  what  he  would.  Suppressing  a  laugh,  he 
ventured,  however : 

"  You  remember  how  the  devils  entered  into  the  herd  of 
swine,  and  what  was  the  consequence  ?  I  was  thinking,  if  I 
entered  into  your  way  of  acting  and  speaking,  or  into  your 
'  spirit,'  as  you  call  it,  we  shall  both  be  compelled  to  run 
violently  down  a  steep  place  —  " 


212  EDITH     HALE. 


,"  said  Mrs.  Wcllmont,  interrupting  him,  quickly, 
"  I  dare  say,  though  you  would  have  me  believe  you  in  jest, 
liiat  you  was  never  more  in  earnest.  And  this  discloses  what 
you  think  of  me  !  How  sorry  I  am  that  I  had  not  accepted 
the  poorest  of  the  dozens  of  offers  of  marriage  I  received  before 
yours  !  " 

"  Neither  you  nor  I  are  in  earnest  now,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Wellmont,  "  and  I  am  willing  to  offer  apologies  for  my  heed- 
less words." 

To  this  Mrs.  Wellmont  vouchsafed  no  reply,  and  they  were 
soon  on  their  way  to  the  residence  of  Father  Shaw.  But 
here,  again,  a  fresh  difficulty  arose.  Mrs.  Wcllmont  com- 
plained of  the  damp  walking,  and  of  the  danger  of  soiling 
her  dress  and  shoes.  "  I  have  always  been  accustomed  to 
papa's  carriage;  and  how  shocking  this  seems,  to  walk  in 
full  dress  !  "  she  said,  with  an  air  of  dejection. 

"  Mr.  Phanuel  offered  to  carry  you  in  his  chaise,  if  you 
would  like  to  go  any  time  before  half-past  three  ;  but  he  was 
going  away,  and  could  not  wait  longer  than  that  time,"  said 
Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me,  then  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Wellmont, 
tartly. 

"  I  thought  the  information  would  be  useless,  after  you  had 
expressed  a  decided  determination  to  be  fashionably  late. 
However,  it  is  not  far,  my  dear,  and  I  dare  say  no  harm  will 
come  to  you  from  the  walk,"  he  replied,  with  a  desire  to 
smooth  the  troubles  away  as  fast  as  they  came,  yet  feeling  it 


EDITH     HALE.  213 

was  a  little  painful,  after  all,  to  be  blamed  by  his  wife  for 
conforming  to  her  caprices. 

The  society  had  wondered  much  at  the  tardiness  of  the 
minister  and  his  wife ;  at  least,  that  portion  who  had  no  par- 
ticular charity  for  people  who  lived  in  all  things  according  to 
fashion.  But  Mrs.  Pickering,  who  had  herself  come  late, 
said  they  should  not  expect  such  ladies  as  Mrs.  Wellmont  to 
attend  earlier. 

"  But,  if  all  come  in  this  way,  how  much  shall  we  be  likely 
to  accomplish  ?  "  said  Miss  Leah.  "  We  never  expect  a  min- 
ister's wife  to  do  any  work  in  our  meetings,  to  be  sure ;  but 
we  expect  that  she  will  be  first,  to  set  a  good  example,  and 
show,  by  her  presence,  that  she  cooperates  heartily  with  us." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wellmont  were  met  at  the  door  by  Miss 
Leah,  who  looked  solemnly  reproachful  at  the  minister's  wife, 
for  to  her  were  all  such  delinquencies  now  attributed.  After 
waiting  for  Mrs.  Wellmont  to  unshawl  above  stairs,  she  was 
conducted  into  the  parlor,  in  which  all  the  ladies  sat,  expect- 
ant and  curious.  The  ceremony  of  an  individual  presentation 
ensued,  —  Mrs.  Wellmont  performing  her  part  as  if  it  were  all 
very  fatiguing,  and  quite  superfluous,  —  at  the  conclusion  of 
which,  after  staring  coolly  about  her,  as  though  each  person 
were  but  a  chair  or  a  footstool,  she  selected  her  seat  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Claudine  Pickering  and  Alitha  Dennis.  Mr. 
Wellmont  paused  to  inquire  after  the  families  of  each  ;  and, 
dispensing  kindly  words  and  smiles  all  about  him,  was  wel- 
comed with  the  same  by  every  one.  Alitha  and  Claudine 
were  well  satisfied  with  Mrs.  Wellmont's  distinction  in  their 


214  EDITH     HALE. 

favor,  and  exerted  themselves  to  be  as  agreeable  as  possible. 
With  those  to  whom  Mrs.  Wellmont  thought  it  worth  the 
while  to  be  agreeable  she  could  condescend  to  unusual  famil- 
iarities, and  even  affect  a  manner  quite  childish,  which  she 
thought  was  the  perfection  of  naivete. 

A  few  minutes  before  the  serving  of  tea,  Father  Shaw  made 
his  appearance.  Mr.  Wellmont  addressed  him  with  great 
heartiness  (for  he  had  come  to  like  the  plain-spoken  old  man 
as  much  as  he  had  at  first  underrated  him) ;  but  it  was  not 
without  a  little  anxiety  in  his  eye  that  he  conducted  him  to 
his  wife.  Mrs.  Wellmont  regarded  him  with  a  mixture  of 
surprise  and  fear,  —  such  a  fear  as  a  superficial  mind  always 
feels  in  the  presence  of  sound  common  sense,  without  any 
meretricious  surrounding.  There  was  a  plain,  steady  look, 
not  wholly  devoid  of  wit,  in  his  eye,  which  disquieted  her,  des- 
pite her  accustomed  nonchalance  with  plain  people,  and  told 
of  an  independence  of  the  opinion  of  others  quite  equal  to  her 
own,  though  based  upon  a  widely  different  principle.  Father 
Shaw  cordially  extended  his  hand  to  her,  which  being  just 
touched,  he  drew  back  suddenly,  and,  after  scrutinizing  his 
palm,  said : 

"  Wat 's  the  matter  now,  ma'am  ?  Have  I  got  anything  on 
my  hand  that  had  n't  ought  ter  be  there  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wellmont  stared  with  unaffected  surprise. 

"  I  thought  so,  'cause  ye  jest  touched  my  fingers  as  if  they 's 
kivered  with  pizen.  Xow,  I  like  to  shake  hands,  as  if  a  body 
that 's  got  a  heart  had  met  a  body  that 's  got  a  heart.  But, 
I  suppose,  'tan't  the  way  perlite  folks  do  now-a-days."  Then, 


EDITH     HALE.  215 

contrary  to  all  expectation,  he  manifested  his  intention  of 
continuing  his  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Wellmont  on  that 
occasion,  by  saying  to  Claudine  Pickering,  "  Will  you  be  so 
good,  Cindy,  as  to  give  up  your  chair  to  me  ?  There 's  a 
better  one  t'  other  end  of  the  room,  by  my  Leah,  there.  I 
want  to  talk  with  this  ere  woman  a  minute  or  so  !  " 

A  general  titter  now  ran  round  the  room,  and  curiosity  was 
excited  as  to  what  was  coming  now ;  for  they  knew  Father 
Shaw  so  well  as  to  be  certain  that  it  would  be  something 
worth  bearing. 

"  I  've  hearn,"  he  began,  "  that  you  're  a  mighty  fine  lady, 
and  have  come  from  gentlefolks'  quarters.  I  suppose  you  're 
larnt  in  a  deal  of  stuff;  but  I  want  to  know  ef  you  've  got  a 
good  kitchen  eddication." 

"  I  never  thought  much  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wellmont, 
blushing ;  "  we  had  servants  at  home  to  keep  that  part  of  the 
house  in  charge." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Father  Shaw,  pinching  the  top  of  his 
nose  between  his  eyes,  as  was  his  custom  when  not  suited , 
"  but,  let  me  tell  ye,  ef  ye  don't  know  nothing  about  such 
things  as  belong  to  keepin'  a  house,  ye  '11  get  along  dreadful 
shiftless-like,  at  best.  A  minister  needs  a  wife  who  's  a  par- 
feet  kitchen  gineral,  and  can  cut  down  all  holler  afore  her,  else 
every  bit  the  people  put  in  at  the  doors  will  go  out  at  the 
sink  dreen.  Ef  she  's  help,  it  don't  mend  the  matter  a  mite  ; 
it  only  makes  things  wuss;  for  there  's  no  sort  of  critter  so 
destroying  as  a  hired  gal  without  the  woman's  eye  on  her. 


216  EDIT1I     II  ALE. 

One  on  'cm  will  make  way  with  more  than  a  corn-barn  full 
of  rats !  " 

Mrs.  Wellmont  now  wore  an  expression  of  unmitigated 
scorn,  and  drew  up  her  dress,  as  if  in  fear  of  contact  with 
such  a  barbarian. 

"  It  is  too  bad  that  he  should  show  off  so  before  her,  when 
we  wish  to  let  her  know  that  we  are  something  here  !  "  whis- 
pered Mrs.  Pickering  to  Mrs.  Dennis.  Mr.  Wellmont  essayed 
to  change  the  topic  of  conversation,  but  in  vain. 

"  Can  you  make  a  good  pudding,  and  salt  it  right  ?  Or  do 
you  know,  ma'am,  how  to  boil  a  cabbage,  or  to  roast  a  spare- 
rib  to  a  turn  ?  "  continued  Father  Shaw. 

"  I  never  tried,"  said  Mrs.  Wellmont,  curtly,  yet  without 
well  knowing  how  to  be  angry,  so  many  ladies  were  laughing 
about  her. 

"  Well,  you  ought  ter  try  right  off,  afore  you  set  up  at 
housekeeping  yourself;  and,  ef  you  can't  git  anybody  to  show 
you,  you  come  to  me,  and  I  '11  show  you  myself.  You  need  n't 
look  so  scornful,  for  I  know  more  about  such  things  than  a 
dozen  women  all  in  a  row.  Arter  my  wife  died,  I  cooked  a 
sight ;  and  some  I  spiled,  and  some  I  made  about  half  right ; 
and  bimeby  I  got  so  I  could  cook  like  all  natur',  —  as  well  as 
the  best  on  'em,  furzino." 

"  I  know  you  cook  sometimes  now,  father,"  said  Miss  Leah, 
"  but  it  isjvrorth  one's  while  to  make  up  their  mind  to  eat 
after  you ! " 

"  Don't  you  meddle,  Leah !     You  're  so  mighty  partikelar, 


EDITH     H  ALE.  217 

nothing  ever  offers  to  come  up  to  you,  —  not  even  a  man  who 
wants  to  get  a  wife  !  " 

At  this  juncture,  Miss  Leah  disappeared  from  the  room. 

"  There  are  some  things  ef  a  minister's  wife  don't  know 
how  to  do  she  '11  come  out  at  the  leetle  end  of  the  horn  at 
last,"  resumed  the  old  man.  "  She  must  know  how  to  cook, 
to  dress  babies  and  make  'em  mind,  and  go  round  among  folks 
in  such  a  way  as  to  make  'em  all  think  a  deal  of  her.  There  's 
one  thing  more,  ma'am,  that 's  very  valerble  :  can  you  make  a 
good  long  prayer  about  the  heathen,  and  niggers,  and  every- 
thing, afore  folks  ?  " 

Father  Shaw  was  very  serious  himself;  but  a  laugh  now 
burst  out,  like  removing  the  stopper  from  a  yeast  bottle. 
Mrs.  Wellmont  could  have  replied  in  truth,  to  his  last  inter- 
rogatory, "I  never  tried;"  but,  for  wise  reasons,  she  was 
silent.  Mr.  Wellmont  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  looked  at 
his  watch,  and  thought  hard  for  something  to  say,  but  did  not 
succeed  in  the  effort.  To  throw  off  her  embarrassment,  Mrs. 
Wellmont  made  some  observation  to  Mrs.  Pickering. 

"Won't  you  speak  a  little  louder,  ma'am ?"  said  Father 
Shaw.  "  I  an't  hard  of  hearing,  though  I  'ni  old  enough  to 
be  ;  but  I  see  you  've  got  a  way  of  talking  so  low  and  minc- 
ing, a  body  has  to  strain  their  ears  with  all  their  might  to 
hear  a  word.  I  s'pose  'tis  the  fashion,  an't  it?"  turning  to 
Mr.  Wellmont.  "  It 's  a  mighty  poor  one  !  I  like  to  hear 
•  women  speak  as  ef  they  'd  some  sense  and  spice  in  'em,  and 
warn't  afraid  of  being  hurt.  I  don't  want  they  should  holler, 
19 


218  EDITH     HALE. 

or  talk  very  loud ;  but  I  can't  bear  to  hear  them  talk  as  ef 
Iheir  mouths  were  in  a  bag  of  cotton." 

"  If  it  is  the  fashion,  it  prevails  among  barbarians  as  well 
as  with  us,"  observed  Mr.  Wellmont ;  "  for  travellers  tell  us, 
in  some  African  kingdoms  the  court  fashion  requires  that  the 
voice  be  scarcely  audible." 

"  Well,  I  thought  't  was  a  kind  of  a  fiat,  nigger  way  of 
talking ;  it  don't  seem  sensible  to  me,  and  I  know  such  women 
as  John  Adams'  wife,  and  Hannah  Adams,  and  Molly  Stark, 
and  all  the  smartest  ones  of  the  country,  never  talked  in  no 
such  foolish  way.  I  speak  on  't  'cause  all  our  gals  are  foller- 
in'  arter  the  fashion,  jest  as  they  do  arter  everything  that 
comes  along,  and  it  makes  me  ache  to  hear  them  wispin',  lisp- 
in',  diddlin'  with  their  words,  as  ef  they 's  ashamed  on  'em, 
as  much  as  a  puppy  is  when  there  's  something  fastened  on  ter 
his  tail." 

Miss  Leah  now  reappeared  and  announced  that  the  tea  was 
prepared,  and  for  the  time  Father  Shaw's  catechizing  was  sus- 
pended. 

The  ladies  stood  about  the  supper  room,  while  a  table,  well 
filled,  was  in  the  centre,  from  which  the  younger  ladies 
helped.  A  smaller  table  was  prepared  for  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Wellmont  and  Father  Shaw,  around  which  they  could  be 
seated.  This  arrangement  Mrs.  Wellmont  declined ;  she  pre- 
ferred standing  with  the  Pickerings  to  sitting  with  Father 
Shaw.  After  the  invocation  of  a  blessing  by  Mr.  Wellmont, 
the  active  operations  of  serving  were  commenced.  Several 
ladies  attentively  waited  upon  Mrs.  Wellmont,  notwithstand- 


EDITH     HALE.  219 

ing  which,  she  seemed  in  danger  of  privation.  She  was  very 
particular  about  the  making  of  her  tea,  and  everything  else 
pertaining  to  the  satisfaction  of  her  appetite,  and  made  no 
scruple  in  manifesting  it.  It  was  observed  she  made  no  use 
of  those  simple  courtesies  which  gracefully  acknowledge  and 
repay  assistance,  but  received  all  attentions  without  the  merest 
expression  of  gratitude. 

"  Just  hear  him,  now,"  whispered  Claudine  to  Mrs.  Well- 
niont,  indicating  Father  Shaw,  who  was  drinking  from  his 
saucer,  with  loud  inhalations ;  "he  does  n't  eat  so  politely  as 
your  husband.'' 

Mrs.  Wellmont  laughed  lightly.  "  But  my  husband  is  not 
perfect  in  that  particular,  as  I  haw  already  told  him,"  she 
observed. 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Claudine,  very  much  interested ;  "  we  all 
think,  here,  he  is  perfect  in  everything." 

"  You  don't  know  him  as  well  as  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Well- 
mont, affecting  to  joke,  but  in  reality  annoyed  to  hear  her 
husband's  praise  instead  of  her  own.  She  was  one  of  those 
wives  who  make  no  scruple  of  blaming  their  husbands  to  their 
dear  confidential  friends. 

Miss  Leah  was  a  superior  country  housekeeper,  and  her 
provision  on  this  occasion  was  liberal  and  excellent.  But 
Mrs.  Wellmont  ate  with  unusual  daintiness,  as  though  quite 
unused  to  such  an  entertainment.  And  this  was  the  fact ;  for, 
at  her  father's  fashionable  home,  she  had  never  sat  down  to  a 
tea-table  furnished  'with  anything  more  than  very  thin  slices 
of  bread  and  cake. 


220  EDITH     HALE. 

"  It  seems  so  odd,"  she  said  to  Claudine,  "  to  see  no  silver 
about  a  table,  except  the  spoons.  No  service  of  plate  or  glass ; 
not  even  silver  forks,  or  a  basket  for  the  cake.  And  I  see  no 
finger-bowls." 

"  La,  no  !  I  dare  say  many  of  these  people  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing." 

Several  of  the  elderly  people  regarded  Mrs.  Wellmont  nar- 
rowly ;  the  result  of  their  scrutiny  was  apparently  not  very 
satisfactory,  for  they  shook  their  heads  and  exchanged  volumes 
of  meaning  through  their  spectacles,  and  behind  their  hands 
placed  to  their  lips,  becoming  thus  unwittingly  copyists  of 
Soloman's  famous  picture  of  "  Scandal,"  at  the  Exhibition 
of  the  British  Institution.  But  it  was  all  the  same  to  the 
object  of  their  remarks,  who  was  one  of  those  young  persons 
to  whom  the  old  folks  are  of  no  sort  of  consideration. 

In  the  evening  the  young  gentlemen  came,  like  flies  attracted 
by  sweetmeats,  and  all  the  lower  rooms  were  filled.  Mr. 
Wellmont  would  have  chosen  to  leave  at  an  early  hour,  but 
he  saw  that  could  not  be,  for  his  wife  had  soon  become  quite 
animated,  in  the  centre  of  a  select  circle.  Mr.  Solomon 
Acre  had  always  been  a  prominent  personage  in  these  meet- 
ings ;  but,  much  to  the  regret  of  the  ladies,  young  and  old,  he 
had  left  the  place.  Other  ladies,  who  felt  humble  and  neg- 
lected, sat  apart  with  their  sewing,  and  talked  in  low  voices 
of  the  diseases  of  themselves,  children,  and  neighbors,  or  of 
the  last  female  prayer-meeting,  while  occasionally  they  glanced 
at  the  charmed  circle,  with  sad  eyes,  and  wondered  within 
their  hearts  if  they  should  ever,  in  eternity,  git  among  the 


EDITH     HALE.  221 

highest,  and,  like  others  around  them,  be  happy  and  fortunate. 
Mrs.  Dr.  Humphrey,  who  was  a  lady  of  superior  intelligence 
and  refinement,  as  beautiful  in  heart  as  in  mind  and  person, 
and  of  such  an  undisputed  position  in  society  that  wherever 
she  went,  there,  as  Seneca  said,  was  the  honored  place,  saw 
something  of  this  intuitively,  and  left  a  gentleman,  with  whom 
she  had  been  conversing,  to  join  this  group.  Believing  in 
that  somewhat  gone-by,  forgotten  doctrine,  that  many  who 
are  first  shall  be  last,  and  the  last  first,  she  recognized  no 
superior  attractions  in  Mrs.  Wellrnont  and  her  set.  She 
inquired  of  each  after  her  welfare,  not  with  a  kind  of  compas- 
sionate sense  of  duty,  but  in  a  thorough  genuine  kindness  that 
went  direct  to  their  hearts. 

Perceiving  Miss  Leah  enter  the  room  with  a  face  a  little 
anxious  and  weary,  she  transferred  her  attentions  to  her,  to 
inform  her,  for  encouragement,  how  well  she  had  succeeded 
that  day,  and  how  happy  her  guests  were  in  consequence. 
Mrs.  Humphrey  did  not  use  flattery,  for  she  was  above  that ; 
but  she  grew  happier  and  more  beautiful  daily,  in  the  glorious 
work  of  trying  to  make  everybody,  without  distinction,  as 
happy  as  possible  around  her.  And,  for  this,  Providence, 
true  to  its  promises,  blessed  her  richly,  and  her  children  after 
her. 

The  old  ladies,  very  much  comforted  and  enlivened  after 
their  three  cups  of  strong  hyson,  made  their  knitting-needles 
and  their  fingers  fly  cheerfully,  without  stopping  to  care  for 
such  nonsense  and  vanity  as  aristocracy.  How  happy  they 
looked  as  they  told  stories  of  the  past,  and  gossiped  about  the 
19* 


222  EDITH     HALE. 

present  and  future,  —  of  what  strange  things  happened  in 
their  courting-dajs,  and  were  happening  now,  in  the  courting- 
days  of  the  young  folks !  Not  less  pleased  among  themselves 
were  the  old  gentlemen,  with  Father  Shaw  in  their  midst, 
talking  about  the  huskings  and  trainings  of  old  times,  and 
interlarding  it  all  frequently  with  interjectional  parentheses 
of  the  difference  in  the  merry-makings  now.  Mr.  Wellmont 
was  sitting  in  a  corner  with  Deacon  Goodwin  and  Dr.  Hum- 
phrey, elucidating  a  religious  topic.  On  the  whole  it  was  a 
time  which  is  set  down  with  a  white  stone. 

"  I  tell  you  Mrs.  Wellmont  is  a  rusher !  "  whispered  one  of 
the  gentlemen  of  the  select  circle  to  Mr.  Squiers,  as  the  even- 
ing waned  apace. 

"  A  queer  one,"  replied  the  young  lawyer,  with  a  curious 
look ;  "  I  should  think,  however,  there  should  be  some  amend- 
ment, or  special  statutory  provision,  to  the  constitution  under 
which  she  acts." 

"  I  should  hardly  have  thought  she  would  have  been  the 
choice  of  Mr.  Wellmont  for  a  wife,"  said  the  other. 

"  0,  I  give  it  as  my  judgment,"  replied  Mr.  Squiers,  "  in 
the  process  of  getting  a  wife,  Mr.  Wellmont  was  not  so  much 
satisfied  with  the  writ  of  capias  ad  satisfaciendum,  which 
secured  the  lady  herself,  as  with  the  writ  levari  facias,  which 
secured  the  estates  of  the  lady." 

"  She  is  not  handsome,  certainly." 

"  No ;  but  she  has  a  certain  air  of  superiority,  of  indiffer- 
ence, or  what  we  legal  people  call  contempt  of  court,  which  is 
quite  impressive ;  though  she  does  not  appear  as  well  as  Miss 


EDITH     HALE.  223 

Dennis,  who  seems  to  have  learned  that  lesson  not  less  im- 
portant to  a  lady  in  society  than  to  a  judge  in  court,  —  to 
abide  by  precedents." 

"  Alitha  has  also  goods  and  chattels  enough  in  prospect  to 
make  it  worth  the  while  to  carry  on  a  long  process  of  court- 
ship," interposed  Zephaniah  Wilkins,  who  had  a  rare  faculty 
of  making  people  uncomfortable,  and  moreover  suspected  that 
the  young  lawyer  had  an  interest  in  the  direction  of  Alitha 
and  the  deacon's  property. 

And  so  the  hours  of  the  meeting  passed,  closed  at  last  by  a 
short,  fervent,  and  appropriate  prayer,  by  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  You  seem  to  be  very  well  acquainted  with  the  women 
here,"  observed  Mrs.  Wellmont,  a  little  nervously,  to  her 
husband,  on  their  way  home,  "  and  one  of  them  has  already 
testified  to  me  that  they  think  you  perfection  itself." 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  fatigued,  dispirited,  and  not  happier  in 
the  prospect  of  conjugal  love  from  his  wife's  appearance  that 
evening ;  he  therefore  replied,  in  a  manner  which  he  sincerely 
repented  immediately  after,  that  it  was  of  little  importance 
to  him  what  they  or  his  wife  thought  of  him ;  and  was  pun- 
ished by  a  fit  of  sullen  silence  in  Mrs.  Wellmont,  which  con- 
tinued till  the  next  day  at  dinner,  when  the  appearance  of  a 
favorite  dish  on  Mr.  Phanuel's  table  broke  the  spell. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

MYSTERIES   UNRAVELLED. 

EDITH  had  scarcely  become  initiated  into  her  new  duties, 
when  she  received  intelligence  which  changed  the  tenor 
of  her  thoughts,  and  was  destined  to  largely  influence  her 
plans  for  the  future.  It  came  from  her  friend,  Mary  Pick- 
ering. An  extract  ran  thus  : 

"  You  will  not  marvel,  dear  Edith,  at  the  deep,  irresistible 
tide  of  joy  that  now  flows  through  my  heart,  when  I  tell  you 
some  of  the  events  which  have  transpired  with  me  since  you 
left.  Mr.  Raymond  came,  as  was  expected ;  but,  contrary  to 
all  the  plans,  he  came  not  for  Julia,  but  for  me.  It  happened 
in  this  way :  Horace  received  a  letter  from  Julia,  shortly 
after  his  return  home,  apparently  to  make  some  inquiries  in 
regard  to  school-books  necessary  to  purchase  for  the  next 
term,  but  in  reality  to  elicit  a  response  of  friendship  from 
him.  It  came  to  him  in  the  midst  of  the  most  engrossing 
engagements,  in  attendance  upon  his  dying  father.  •He,  how- 
ever, took  time  to  write  hastily  and  briefly  to  Julia  and  myself 
at  one  sitting.  But  the  letters  were  scarcely  concluded,  when 
he  was  summoned  to  attend  to  business,  the  purport  of  which 


EDITH     HALE.  225 

you  will  presently  understand.  His  father's  death  transpired 
immediately  after.  He  concluded,  when  here,  from  the  fact 
of  no  letter  having  reached  me,  in  the  anxieties  and  abstrac- 
tion of  that  event,  the  letter  written  to  Julia  was  sent  only, 
while  mine  was  mislaid  or  lost.  He  has  since  written  me 
that  he  has  found  the  letter  among  papers  then  hurriedly  put 
aside,  and  has  ascertained  that  a  letter  of  business  to  a  mer- 
cantile correspondent  was  sent  away  by  his  servant,  instead 
of  the  one  addressed  to  me. 

"  When  Horace  subsequently  addressed  father,  asking  for 
the  hand  of  his  daughter  in  marriage,  in  consequence  of  the 
definiteness  of  his  previous  letter  to  me,  it  never  occurred  to 
him  that  the  object  of  his  preference  could  be  mistaken.  And 
Julia  naturally  fell  into  the  error,  having  already  conceived 
strong  hopes  of  gaining  his  favor,  from  the  friendliness  of  his 
letter  to  her.  She  now  experiences  a  bitter  disappointment, 
and  I  compassionate  her  deeply.  I  believe  that  ma  designs 
sending  her  on  a  journey  for  the  present. 

"  At  my  especial  request,  our  marriage  will  be  delayed 
until  you  conclude  your  present  engagement,  when  I  hope  we 
shall  be  reunited,  not  soon  to  be  separated  again,  unless  at 
your  own  will,  or  that  of  Providence. 

"  I  send  you  a  communication  written  by  the  late  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, which  Horace  desired  me  to  enclose  with  my  letter  to 
you,  and  the  nature  of  which  he  has  disclosed  to  me.  I  will 
not  linger  now  to  comment  upon  your  good  fortune,  lest  I  rob 
you  of  one  half  the  pleasure  of  the  surprise.  I  will  conclude 


22ti  EDIT1I     HALE. 

by  saying  that  this  intelligence  respecting  you,  my  ever  dear 
friend,  renders  my  present  happiness  complete." 

The  enclosed  paper  read  as  follows  : 

"  For  the  benefit  of  the  wronged,  and  for  the  relief  of  my 
soul  in  the  prospect  of  death,  I  now  disclose  a  circumstance 
of  my  early  life,  which,  with  its  results,  has  since  clouded  all 
my  days.  When  I  was  a  young  man  —  a  great  many  years 
ago  —  I  loved  a  girl  by  the  name  of  Blanche  Hale.  She  was 
an  orphan  dependent  upon  an  uncle,  while  I  was  the  only 
son  of  one  of  the  wealthiest  citizens  of  Boston.  When  my 
father  learned  of  my  love,  he  forbade  it.  He  swore,  if  I 
married  the  penniless  girl,  he  would  make  a  will  and  give  all 
his  estate  to  my  sister.  I  had  not  less  spirit  than  himself. 
If  I  had  known  I  should  have  been  shot  to  the  heart  for  it,  I 
would  have  married  Blanche.  She  loved  me  as  I  loved  her, 
although  I  was  sometimes  madly  jealous  of  rivals,  for  she  was 
so  beautiful  that  many  loved  her.  One  in  particular,  who  had 
long  been  envious  of  my  good  fortune,  annoyed  me  contin- 
ually. In  my  impetuosity,  to  secure  myself  against  all  pros- 
pect of  losing  Blanche,  I  obtained  her  consent  to  a  secret 
marriage,  though  not  without  much  persuasion,  for  she  ab- 
horred deception,  and  was  as  good  as  she  was  lovely.  I  fore- 
saw that  my  father  could  not  live  long,  for  he  was  suffering 
under  a  dangerous  disease  ;  and  I  thought,  if  I  waited  cau- 
tiously, all  would  eventually  result  according  to  my  wishes. 

"  We  went  privately,  and  without  attendants,  to  a  distant 
state,  and  were  married  by  the  first  magistrate  I  found ;  from 
whence  we  returned,  and  lived  at  our  several  homes  as  be- 


EDITH     HALE.  227 

fore,  —  my  absence  being  satisfactorily  accounted  for  to  my 
father  by  the  fact  of  having  business  for  him  in  the  same 
direction,  which  I  transacted.  As  I  appeared  to  acquiesce 
with  the  command  to  forsake  Blanche,  I  came  again  into 
favor  with  my  father,  and  he  now  wished  to  see  me  advan- 
tageously settled,  as  he  called  it,  before  he  died.  He  had  set 
his  heart  upon  my  marrying  the  daughter  of  his  partner  in 
business,  —  a  girl  who,  like  her  family,  possessed  no  attrac- 
tions but  money.  I  did  not  openly  thwart  his  wishes;  and 
it  was  soon  currently  reported  that  I  was  about  to  marry  this 
girl.  This  report  reaching  the  ears  of  Blanche,  she  was 
overcome  with  grief,  until  I  reassured  her.  Presently  there 
was  a  prospect  of  my  becoming  a  father,  and  I  prepared  to 
remove  Blanche  to  the  home  of  a  relative  at  some  distance, 
before  the  fact  should  obtain  publicity.  But  she  had  not 
left  her  uncle's  before  my  father,  most  fortunately,  as  I  •  im- 
piously thought,  died  suddenly,  and  left  me  the  master  of  my 
own  actions.  Overjoyed  at  my  fortune,  I  was  about  to  remove 
her  to  my  own  home,  and  openly  acknowledge  our  marriage, 
when  the  former  suitor  of  Blanche,  divining  my  intentions, 
boasted  to  me,  with  the  face  of  a  friend,  of  her  inconstancy 
to  me.  I  was  stung  almost  to  madness ;  but  I  doubted  his 
word,  and  challenged  him  to  a  duel.  '  I  accept  the  chal- 
lenge,' he  answered,  with  a  smile  of  triumph,  '  if  you  persist 
in  offering  it  after  reading  this  ; '  and  he  produced  a  letter 
from  Blanche,  addressed  to  him  with  the  same  familiarity  she 
had  written  to  me  since  our  marriage,  alluding  to  the  child. 


228  EDITH     HALE. 

of  which  he  was  the  father,  and  otherwise  substantiating  his 
assertions. 

"  I  said  no  word  in  reply.  I  left  him  with  my  heart  sud- 
denly frozen  to  ice.  I  never  saw  Blanche  again  after  this, 
for  all  my  former  love  had  changed  to  unmitigated  hate.  She 
wrote  to  me  repeatedly,  but  I  returned  her  letters  unopened. 
She  once  came  to  my  house,  and  implored  the  servants,  even 
on  her  knees,  to  show  her  to  me.  But  my  orders  were  per- 
emptory that  she  should  be  expelled  from  the  house,  and  they 
were  strictly  obeyed.  I  stood  just  above  stairs,  and  heard 
her  great  sobs  as  she  went  out.  My  God  !  I  can  hear  them 
now  !  I  have  heard  them  by  day  and  night  since  ! 

"  Her  disgrace  became  public.  As  a  last  refuge,  she  now 
openly  asserted  her  marriage  to  me,  which  I  firmly  denied, 
with  well-feigned  astonishment.  I  knew  that  no  proofs  to 
the '  contrary  could  be  obtained,  otherwise  I  should  have 
adopted  a  different  course.  I.  had  previously  taken  care  to 
ascertain  if  our  marriage  had  been  entered  upon  record  by 
the  magistrate  who  had  married  us ;  and,  finding  that  he  had 
neglected  so  doing  until  the  prescribed  time  had  expired,  the 
expediency  of  denying  my  marriage  was  first  established  in 
my  purposes.  I  had  retained  the  legal  certificate  of  our 
marriage  in  my  own  possession,  and,  on  being  informed  of  her 
treachery,  had  destroyed  it.  In  her  implicit  trust  in  me,  at 
the  time  of  our  hasty  marriage  among  strangers,  she  had 
neglected  even  to  ask  the  name  of  the  magistrate  who  had 
married  us,  and  to  eeek  him  personally  was  then  impossible 
for  her.  The  world  believed  me,  and  branded  her  with 


EDITU      HALE.  229 

infamy, —  for  my  character  had  always  stood  fairly,  and  in  such 
cases  judgment  is  given  in  favor  of  the  strongest.  Even  her 
uncle  deserted  her  in  this  extremity,  and  expelled  her  from 
his  house.  She  then  went  to  the  home  of  a  relative  at  some 
distance,  and,  shortly  after  giving  birth  to  her  child,  died. 

"  I  immediately  went  abroad.  My  mother  had  been  dead 
for  years,  and  I  left  my  sister  in  charge  of  my  father's  part- 
ner, who  was  her  guardian.  As  this  man  had  been  very 
much  angered  at  my  refusal  to  marry  his  daughter,  he  con- 
trived after  my  departure  to  effect  a  marriage  between  my  sister 
and  his  son,  who  was  a  coarse,  uneducated,  small-souled  man, 
and  altogether  unsuited  for  one  of  her  refined  and  sensitive 
nature.  I  knew  nothing  of  these  designs  until  she  wrote  to 
inform  me  of  her  marriage,  and  it  was  then  too  late  to  inter- 
fere. I  have  always  reproached  myself  for  leaving  my  sister 
to  the  care  of  others ;  for  the  suffering  I  afterwards  learned 
she  endured  in  consequence  was  another  rebuke  for  my  im- 
petuosity of  action.  Before  I  returned  she  died  of  a  linger- 
ing disease,  having  given  birth  to  several  children,  who,  all 
save  one,  died  in  their  infancy  —  and  this  one  proved  an  im- 
becile. So  the  property  left  to  my  sister  by  my  father  fell 
into  the  entire  keeping  of  this  Rufus  Sykes,  her  husband,  who 
clutched  it  with  the  grasp  of  a  miser,  and  has  since  proved 
himself  only  worthy  of  contempt. 

"  I  remained  abroad  many  years,  unwilling  to  return  to  the 
scene  of  my  former  disappointments,  ever  miserable,  and  some- 
times driven  by  my  reflections  almost  to  despair.  In  Rome, 
one  winter,  I  met  an  American  family  with  whom  I  became 
20 


230  EDITH     HALE. 

intimate.  Among  the  family  was  a  daughter,  a  refined,  gentle 
girl,  who  betrayed  her  regard  for  me  from  the  first.  Her 
father,  understanding  my  undoubted  position  as  a  man  of 
property,  was  very  courteous  to  me,  and  strove  to  effect  a 
union  between  his  daughter  and  myself.  I  had  lost  all  faith 
in  woman ;  but  the  truthful  tenderness  and  unaffected  goodness 
of  this  young  girl  appealed  at  last  to  my  respect.  I  never 
could  be  in  love  again  ;  but  the  idea  that,  in  the  event  of  my 
sudden  death,  the  remainder  of  my  father's  estate  would  also 
fall  to  this  Sykes'  possession,  made  me  willing  to  marry,  for 
this  man  I  had  always  thoroughly  hated.  After  my  marriage, 
I  returned  with  my  wife  to  my  home,  and  plunged  myself  into 
my  business  affairs,  to  withdraw  my  memory  from  the  past  as 
much  as  possible.  I  would  not  retain  a  business  connection 
with  my  father's  former  partner,  and,  after  much  difficulty,  the 
partnership  was  dissolved.  Notwithstanding  my  efforts,  I 
could  not  bring  my  mind  to  tranquillity,  and  I  came  to  indulge 
the  hope  of  purchasing  peace  by  interesting  myself  actively  in 
objects  of  benevolence  which  fell  under  my  observation. 

"  One  bitter  winter  night,  on  returning  home  from  my 
counting-room,  I  discovered  a  child  crouching  on  my  door- 
steps, and  crying  piteously.  I  took  her  within,  and  found 
that  she  was  almost  perished  with  cold  and  famine.  After 
taking  care  that  she  was  newly-clothed  and  fed,  in  answer  to 
my  inquiries  I  learned  that  she  had  only  a  father,  who  was 
sick  in  a  miserable  room,  in  one  of  the  most  wretched  por- 
tions of  the  city ;  and  when  she  repeated  his  name,  great 
Heavens  !  it  was  a  "name  I  remembered  but  too  well.  I  was 


EDITH     HALE.  231 

about  to  send  her  home  with  a  servant,  when  a  certain  inde- 
finable desire  to  meet  my  old  rival  and  enemy  urged  me  to 
return  with  her  in  person.  I  found  him  in  his  wretchedness, 
but  in  such  a  situation  that  I  could  scarcely  feel  any  emotion 
other  than  pity.  He  was  lying  upon  a  heap  of  straw,  beside 
which  the  storm  beat  in  through  the  broken  window-panes,  and 
between  the  crevices  of  the  building,  while  he  lay  prostrate 
with  disease,  and  emaciated  almost  to  a  skeleton.  He  did 
not  know  me  ;  but  when  I  spoke  my  name,  distinctly  and 
sternly,  he  started  wildly,  and  began  to  mutter  about  Blanche 
Hale.  Then  I  saw  oozing  from  his  mouth  a  stream  of  blood. 
In  his  excitement  he  had  broken  a  blood-vessel,  and  seemed 
dying.  I  left  him  to  summon  a  physician  to  his  aid.  When 
he  had  partially  recovered,  he  told  me,  in  broken  whispers, 
that  Blanche  Hale  had  been  innocent  of  all  the  guilt  he 
had  charged  upon  her ;  that  the  letter  he  showed  me  as  her 
own,  addressed  to  him,  was  a  forgery.  He  had  possessed 
himself  of  one  of  her  letters  to  me,  by  bribing  a  servant  in 
her  uncle's  house,  and  so  discovered  the  secret  of  her  mar- 
riage. '  You  can  find  the  original  letter  now  in  the  bottom 
of  that  old  box,  there,'  he  said,  pointing  with  his  skeleton 
finger  towards  the  only  article  of  furniture  in  the  miserable 
room ;  and  then  continued,  though  very  much  exhausted,  '  God 
only  knows  how  much  I  have  suffered  since  that  guilty  deed. 
Everything  has  gone  against  me.  And  I  die  now  the  most 
miserable  of  deaths.  My  poor  child ! '  He  could  say  no 
more,  for  the  blood  flowed  freely  again ;  but  he  cast  on  me  a 
look  which  I  have  remembered  to  this  hour.  I  answered  it 


232  EDITH     HALE. 

by  saying,  '  You  are  forgiven  by  me,  and  I  will  be  a  father  to 
your  child.'  He  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  in  the  tears,  and  never 
opened  them  again.  He  died  before  morning,  and  I  was  after- 
wards faithful  to  my  promise  to  befriend  his  child. 

"  My  next  effort,  after  awakening  from  the  shock  which 
this  discovery  had  occasioned,  was  to  make  the  only  reparation 
left  me  for  the  great  wrong  the  innocent  had  suffered.  I  went 
to  the  place  in  which  Blanche  had  died,  and  sought  for  her 
child.  I  learned  that  it  was  a  boy  of  some  fifteen  years,  and 
was  apprenticed  to  a  mechanic  in  a  neighboring  town.  After 
having  sought  out  the  mother's  grave,  and,  with  tears,  such  as 
I  had  never  shed  before  since  my  childhood,  repeated  my  vow 
to  protect  the  injured  child,  I  renewed  my  efforts  in  secret. 
But  when  I  reached  the  place  to  which  I  had  been  directed, 
the  boy  was  gone.  He  had  run  away  but  a  week  before.  By 
a  neighbor  of  his  master  I  learned  that  he  had  been  misused, 
—  tasked  heavily,  often  severely  beaten  for  slight  offences, 
and  always  provided  scantily  with  food  and  clothing.  How 
my  heart  groaned  within  me  to  hear  this  !  and  my  self-accus- 
ings  daily  became  more  poignant.  I  next  used  every  possible 
endeavor,  as  God  is  my  witness,  to  discover  the  lost  boy ;  but 
in  vain.  After  a  long,  fruitless  search,  I  settled  into  a  disap- 
pointed, broken-hearted  hypochondriac.  My  first  child  by  my 
second  wife,  a  noble  boy,  whom  I.  had  worshipped,  had  died  a 
few  months  before  these  events.  And  my  wife,  who  was  con- 
stantly afflicted  by  my  increasing  irritability  and  gloom, 
became  a  prey  to  sorrow  and  that  subtle  disease,  consumption, 


EDITH     HALE.  2o3 

—  which  steals  its  victim  unawares,  —  and,  after  giving  birth 
to  another  son,  sunk  gradually  to  the  grave. 

"  I  felt  that  my  retribution  had  come,  never  to  leave  me  for 
a  moment ;  for  the  thought  of  the  child  of  poor  Blanche 
became  to  me  an  abiding  sorrow.  Years  and  years  of  misery 
dragged  on,  while  I  heard  no  more  of  the  child,  whom  I  knew 
must,  if  living,  have  come  to  manhood. 

"  But  when  I  went  to  Waterbury,  a  short  time  since,  Mr. 
Pickering  invited  me  to  go  to  the  cemetery  in  that  place  to 
see  a  new  family  monument  he  had  recently  erected.  I  went, 
and,  while  examining  the  ground,  I  accidentally  read  the 
record  of  the  death  of  Blanchard  Hale.  The  name  struck 
me  powerfully  in  a  moment,  and  I  recalled  the  fact  that  this 
was  the  name  of  him  for  whom  I  had  been  searching  for 
so  many  wretched  years ;  and  the  age  corresponded  exactly. 
Concealing  my  emotion,  I  made  the  most  careful  inquiries 
concerning  the  deceased,  and  learned  that  he  had  resided  in 
Waterbury  only  about  ten  years,  having  removed  thither  from 
New  York. 

"  I  then  discovered  why  I  had  missed  of  my  object  in  my 
search ;  for,  though  I  had  examined  the  records  of  this  state 
and  the  state  in  which  he  was  born,  for  many  years,  to  dis- 
cover his  location,  I  had  not  thought  of  pursuing  my  investi- 
gations in  New  York ;  and,  for  the  last  fifteen  years,  I  had 
given  over  all  efforts  as  useless,  believing  he  was  dead. 
Upon  the  representation  of  being  partially  acquainted  with 
the  father  of  the  deceased,  I  obtained  an  interview  with  his 
widow,  and  found  her  the  most  accomplished  and  amiable  of 
20* 


234  EDITH     HALE. 

women.  I  saw  my  grandchild,  and  with  difficulty  was  pre- 
vented from  discovering  myself.  This  I  could  not  do ;  for  I 
had  suffered  so  long  and  silently,  my  sorrow  seemed  buried 
in  my  own  heart  too  deeply  to  bring  forth  to  the  stare  and 
reproach  of  others.  I  learned  their  misfortunes,  and  resolved 
to  befriend  them  as  soon  as  I  could  decide  upon  the  most 
practicable  method.  Xot  long  after  this,  my  son  came  to  me 
with  a  desire  to  teach  school  one  quarter  in  Waterbury  ;  and, 
•ontrary  to  his  expectations,  I  expressed  no  objections,  taking 
care  to  recommend  this  mother  and  daughter  to  his  partic- 
ular notice,  upon  the  plea  of  an  old  obligation  I  was  under 
to  the  deceased  husband  and  father,  and  requesting  him  to 
mention  in  his  letters  to  me  anything  of  interest  which  might 
occur  respecting  them.  In  his  first  letter  he  wrote  that  the 
mother  was  dead,  and  the  daughter  at  present  suitably  pro- 
vided for  by  the  benevolence  of  friends.  I  then  resolved  to 
make  my  will,  and  name  this  girl  one  of  my  heirs ;  but, 
before  doing  this,  I  have  judged  it  best  to  write  out  this  state- 
ment at  different  times,  when  I  have  been  sufficiently  capable, 
that  my  son  may  clearly  understand  why  I  shall  divide  my 
estate  between  him  and  another." 

Subjoined  to  this  was  the  following  from  Horace  Raymond : 
"  When  my  father  had  written  thus  far,  he  was  stricken 
with  the  disease  which  finally  terminated  his  life.  On  being 
summoned  home,  I  found  him  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  or,  at 
least,  imperfect  consciousness.  In  moments  of  delirium  he 
talked  of  '  a  great  wrong '  he  had  committed,  of  '  the  curse 
of  an  injured  wife,'  etc.  But,  as  the  hour  of  his  death 


EDITH     HALE.  235 

approached,  by  that  miracle  of  dissolution  his  consciousness 
seemed  to  return  with  all  its  former  clearness  and  vigor. 
Summoning  me  to  his  bedside,  he  directed  me  where  to  find 
the  paper  of  which  the  foregoing  is  a  copy,  which  being  pro- 
duced, he  said,  with  deep  regret,  '  0,  that  I  had  been  spared 
to  write  my  will !  that  I  could  have  died  with  a  surety  of 
having  done  all  I  could  for  those  who  have  suffered  on  my 
account !  Not  foreseeing  that  I  should  die  so  soon,  I  did  not 
hasten  the  arrangement  of  my  affairs  as  I  should  have  done. 
But  I  trust,  my  son,  that  you  will  perform  what  I  now  tell 
you,  without  a  legal  obligation.'  Of  this  I  assured  him  sol- 
emnly, and  he  continued,  '  Remember  to  always  provide  for 
the  child  of  Blanchard  Hale,  late  of  Waterbury,  in  all 
respects  the  same  as  though  she  were  your  sister.  And  when 
she  attains  the  age  of  her  majority,  I  desire  you  to  settle 
legally  one  third  of  all  my  estate  upon  her  and  her  heirs  for- 
ever. Do  this,  and  you  will  prosper.'  These  were  his  last  words. 
I  need  hardly  add,  dear  Edith,  that  it  will  be  my  pleasure 
to  faithfully  execute  my  father's  commands  respecting  you." 
When  Edith  had  concluded  reading  this,  —  had  unlocked,  as 
it  were,  the  mysteries  of  the  past,  over  which  she  had  so  much 
pondered,  and  beheld,  with  one  swift,  tumultuous  glance,  the 
brilliant  prospect  now  unclosing  before  her,  — 

"  With  wild  surprise, 
As  if  to  marble  struck,  devoid  of  sense, 
A  stupid  moment  motionless  she  sat." 

Then  she  thought   of  those  beautiful  psalms  which   exhort 


236  EDITH     HALE. 

the  heart  to  praise  God  for  all  his  mercies  and  wonderful 
works  to  the  children  of  men,  and  calm  and  holy  thoughts,  in 
harmony  with  the  inspired  praises,  possessed  her  soul.  Not 
for  days  or  weeks  could  she  fully  realize  the  great  change 
which  had  come  to  her  destiny ;  for  she  had  been  of  late  so 
much  accustomed  to  disappointment  and  the  straits  of  pov- 
erty, it  was  not  possible  to  put  away  the  burden  at  once.  And 
when  she  recalled  the  memory  of  the  trials  her  parents  had 
endured,  the  great  sorrows  that  had  gone  over  their  souls, 
and  left  them  earth-worn  and  weary,  she  could  only  feel 
humbly  and  quietly  glad  at  her  own  superior  good  fortune ; 
for  she  knew  that  she,  like  them,  might  be  called  to  endure 
yet  other  and  trying  vicissitudes,  incident  to  human  life. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

SHADOWS. 

IT  was  the  early  summer  again  —  the  second  summer  of 
Mr.  Wellmont's  residence  in  Waterbury.  His  wife's  father 
having  purchased  the  residence  of  Mr.  Phanuel,  upon  that 
gentleman's  removing  from  the  place,  and  intimating  that  it 
was  to  be  a  gift  to  himself  and  wife,  he  sat  within  his  own 
house  now,  and  from  the  window  of  his  study  beheld  the  flow- 
ers bloom  in  his  own  garden.  The  dew  which  lay  upon  their 
hearts  in  the  morning  and  evening  he  likened  to  tears,  which, 
with  a  rude  breath  of  wind,  or  a  grasp  of  a  ruthless  hand, 
rained  to  the  ground.  They  were  emblems  of  his  own  heart. 
How  had  he  planned  to  improve  and  adorn  and  enjoy  a  home 
he  might  call  his  own !  And  when  came  the  prospect  of  this 
beautiful  spot  gliding  so  easily  into  his  possession,  it  had 
seemed  to  him  another  Tempe,  irrigated  by  the  silvery  and 
musical  Peneus,  and  bounded  to  the  view  by  the  grand,  hoary 
heights  of  Olympus  and  Ossa,  the  harmonious  whole  clothed 
in  perpetual  loveliness.  All  internal  vexations  were  to  be 
entirely  submerged  in  the  enjoyment  of  this  rare  external 
beauty,  which  was  to  receive  the  imprint  of  his  possession. 


238  EDITH     IIALE. 

But  the  ownership  being  in  right  of  another,  and  that  other 
an  exacting,  imperious  wife,  the  scene  suddenly,  and  ere  he 
was  aware,  lost  half  its  attractiveness.  The  Olympus  and 
Ossa  of  his  imagination  were  soon  'hooded  with  snows,  and 
cloaked  with  avalanches ;  and  the  stream  was  dark  and  sullen 
in  its  course  under  the  black  shadow  of  jagged  precipices. 
As  with  the  wandering  children  of  Israel,  God  gave  his  request, 
but  sent  bitterness  into  his  soul. 

One  morning,  as  Mr.  Wellmont  sat  with  his  wife,  thought- 
fully turning  the  leaves  of  a  book  of  engravings,  while  she 
pulled  the  threads  from  a  finished  piece  of  embroidery,  he 
said,  "  My  dear,  I  have  been  thinking  for  some  time  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  receive  a  visit  from  my  mother,  now  that  we 
are  housekeeping  for  ourselves."  He  concluded  this  by  a 
constrained  breath,  as  if  he  had  made  quite  an  effort. 

"  I  am  expecting  considerable  company  from  the  city,  this 
season,  and  I  am  sure  your  mother  would  be  quite  de  trop," 
replied  Mrs.  Wellmont,  with  a  frown. 

"  My  mother  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Wellmont ;  "  can  you  speak 
thus  of  one  dearer  to  me  than  life.  —  one  who  has  hitherto 
thought  nothing  too  much  to  sacrifice  for  my  good,  and  who 
is  always  to  me  a  cherished  object  of  love  and  reverence !  " 

"  What  an  air  of  offended  pride  !  "  exclaimed  his  wife,  with 
sarcasm ;  "  but  this  is  the  way  of  some  men,  who  worship 
their  relations,  and  depreciate  their  wives,  I  am  sure  ;  "  then 
she  added,  with  a  broken  voice,  "  I  wish  I  had  remained  at 
home,  where  I  should  have  been  regarded  with  consideration, 
at  least." 


EDITH     HALE.  239 

"  Xow,  Bertrade,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  somewhat  relenting, 
and  beginning  to  feel  that  he  was  no  longer  the  injured  party, 
"  you  do  not  suppose  I  intended  that  I  loved  only  my  mother, 
because  I  spoke  thus  of  her  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do,  sir !  "  sobbed  Mrs.  Wellmont, 

Thereupon  ensued  a  domestic  scene  upon  which  we  drop  the 
curtain,  only  pausing  to  say  that  the  mother  was  not  invited 
to  make  her  visit,  although  the  invitation  was  looked  for  con- 
fidently in  every  letter. 

The  clouds  having  dispersed,  and  the  shower  ceased,  Mr. 
"Wellmont  became  cheerful  again,  with  a  rainbow  over  his 
head,  and,  while  his  wife  went  to  give  directions  for  the  din- 
ner, he  walked  in  his  garden. 

"  It  is  certainly  agreeable  to  see  all  these  beautiful  plants 
growing  on  one's  own  land,"  he  mused,  "  and  to  walk  under 
the  shadow  of  one's  own  trees,  which  promise  an  abundant 
yield  of  fruit.  After  all,  I  suppose  I  may  have  been  unthank- 
ful, as  all  of  us  are  prone  to  be  when  we  attain  the  accom- 
plishment of  our  desires.  If  Bertrade  be  too  fashionable  for 
the  wife  of  a  minister,  or  too  inexperienced  for  a  good  house- 
keeper, so  that  she  cannot  manage  to  get  up  a  decent  meal 
with  the  help  of  a  '  well-recommended  cook,'  I  must  content 
myself  with  the  other  and  brighter  side.  Love  and  charity 
shall  excuse  her  worldliness,  and  sunshine  shall  be  the  dessert 
with  a  poor  dinner." 

At  dinner  that  day,  however,  his  resolution  was*  tested 
thoroughly.  His  favorite  roast  was  done  to  a  crisp ;  another 
dish  was  so  little  cooked  it  required  the  teeth  of  an  antedilu- 


240  EDITH     HALE. 

viau  to  masticate  it ;  and  a  third  was  so  highly  seasoned  it 
could  not  be  eaten  at  all.  The  handsome  table  furniture 
could  not  quite  balance  these  difficulties  with  Mr.s.  TTellrnont, 
who  said  she  would  discharge  her  maid-of-all-work,  and  obtain 
another. 

"  That,"  said  her  husband,  "  is  more  easily  said  than  done. 
Nothing  do  country  housekeepers  find  so  difficult  to  obtain  as 
good  help.  You  already  have  experienced  the  truth  of  this ; 
for  we  have  had  three  girls  in  as  many  weeks,  and  no  one  of 
them  has  been  capable  of  getting  a  good  dinner." 

"  How  do  other  people  do  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  "\Vellmont. 

"  Generally  the  mistresses  assist  in  the  preparation  of  their 
food ;  else  they  must  make  up  their  minds  to  close  their  eyes 
against  all  sorts  of  domestic  evil,  and  eat  whatever  is  set 
before  them,  asking  no  questions  for  conscience'  sake." 

"  Well,  I  shall  never  come  down  to  working  in  my  roast- 
ing, smoking,  steaming  kitchen,  for  the  sake  of  watching  a 
servant !  It  is  enough  for  me  to  think  what  is  best  to  do,  and 
then  give  directions.  If  I  can't  get  better  servants,  I  '11  break 
up  and  board,"  concluded  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

As  had  now  become  frequently  the  case,  Mr.  Wellmont 
sought  refuge  from  his  domestic  perplexities  in  his  study,  and 
his  wife  at  her  piano  or  embroidery.  But  the  minister  was 
in  no  mood  for  writing  a  sermon  to-day ;  so,  with  a  book  in 
his  hand  and  a  sigh  in  his  heart,  he  sat  by  his  window  and 
became 'absorbed  in  reflection.  Hours  were  thus  wasted  before 
he  was  aware,  for  his  memory  had  been  wandering  back 
through  the  vista  of  the  years  when  life  had  seemed  to  his 


EDITH     HALE.  24.1 

imagination  like  a  hanging  garden  of  the  East ;  and  his  soul 
elevated  with  hope,  in  which  flourished  and  bloomed  the 
selectest  flowers  of  fancy.  But  he  had  grasped  at  shadows, 
and  found  only  hard,  leaden  realities.  He  thought  of  the 
words  of  David,  "  Surely  every  man  walketh  in  vain  show : 
surely  they  are  disquieted  in  vain ;"  and  he  remembered,  too, 
that  passage,  "  Better  is  a  dinner  of  herbs  where  love  is,  than 
a  house  full  of  sacrifices  with  strife."  Alas !  it  had  been 
better  if  these  reflections  had  come  to  him  before  it  was  too 
late! 

Suddenly  arousing  himself,  he  went  below  stairs,  and  again 
entered  the  presence  of  his  wife,  in  the  effort  to  convince  him- 
self that  his  unhappy  reflections  were  as  a  dream  which  would 
soon  pass  away. 

The  salutation  he  received,  was,  "  See,  Mr.  Wellmont,  your 
footprints  on  my  beautiful  carpet !  you  must  have  neglected 
your  boots  after  leaving  the  garden  this  morning.  And  I  have 
just  discovered  some  horrid  marks  upon  my  sofa,  which  you 
suffered  your  kitten  to  scratch  last  evening !  " 

"  Of  both  your  allegations  I  am  ignorant ;  though  I  sup- 
pose I  must  plead  guilty,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  with  a  smile. 

"I  shall  go  frantic  to  see  my  furniture  ruined  in  this  way !  " 
continued  Mrs.  Wellinont,  with  increasing  disaffection,  while 
her  eyes  were  nervously  riveted  upon  the  marks  she  had 
pointed  out. 

"  The  example  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton  is  a  good  one  to  recall 
under  such  trying  circumstances,"  observed  Mr.  Wellmont, 
with  a  slight  spirit  of  humor  lurking  about  his  eyes.  "  When 
21 


242  EDITH     HALE. 

his  little  pet  dog,  Diamond,  had  destroyed  the  labor  of 
several  years,  by  upsetting  a  candle  on  his  desk,  he  only 
exclaimed,  '  0,  Diamond !  Diamond !  you  little  know  the 
mischief  you  have  done.'  It  is  hardly  wise  to  grow  frantic 
over  an  injury  so  much  less  than  that  sustained  by  the  philos- 
opher." 

"  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  to  preach  to  me,  if  you  do 
to  other  people ! "  replied  Mrs.  Wellmout,  not  at  all  mollified 
by  her  husband's  reproof;  "  I  think  too  much  of  my  things 
to  see  them  so  injured,  and  smile  about  it.  Let  me  go  to 
your  library,  and  turn  down  the  pages  of  your  books,  and 
stain  and  mark  over  their  margins,  fly-leaves,  etc.,  and  then 
see  if  you  feel  better  than  I  do  now !  My  carpets  are  ele- 
gant, and  cost  me  too  much  care  to  have  me  see  them 
destroyed." 

"  One  would  infer,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  that  our  house- 
hold gods  were  indeed  the  idols  of  your  worship,  and  should 
not  be  touched  with  sacrilegious  hands.  I  recommend,  in 
order  to  go  out  of  doors  and  return  with  feet  that  shall  not 
soil  these  preciously  covered  floors,  we  be  provided  with  a 
couple  of  mules  on  which  to  ride ;  and,  to  dignify  the  ani- 
mals, they  shall  be  shod  with  golden  shoes,  as  were  the 
mules  which  were  used  by  the  Emperor  Nero  and  his  wife 
Poppsea." 

"  It  signifies  nothing  to  me  what  Nero  or  Poppy  used," 
said  Mrs.  Wellmont ;  "  but  this  reminds  me  of  what  I  was 
about  to  tell  you  before.  I  must  have  a  saddle  horse  to  ride 
this  summer." 


EDITH     HALE.  243 

"  You  cannot  be  in  earnest,  Bertrade,"  answered  Mr.  Well- 
mont, very  much  astonished. 

"  Indeed,  I  mean  just  what  I  say.  I  always  ride  horse- 
back when  I  am  in  the  country  in  the  summer." 

"  What  would  my  parishioners  say  to  see  the  wife  of  their 
minister  riding  past  their  buildings  upon  horseback  ?  They 
would  think  you  had  gone  mad,  and  had  started  on  a  crusade 
to  the  Holy  Land.  And  I  myself  would  fear  that  in  the 
perils  of  such  an  adventure  you  might,  in  reality,  go  to  the 
same  place." 

"  I  care  not  what  such  people  as  these  think  of  me,"  ex- 
claimed the  lady  contemptuously ;  "  it  is  quite  the  fashion  to 
ride  horseback.  Besides,  I  heard  Mrs.  Pickering's  daughters 
say  they  intended  to  do  so,  this  season." 

"  Most  probably  you  said  so  first." 

"  Well,  and  what  then  ?  " 

"  If  you  set  this  mode  here,  Bertrade,  I  '11  give  you  my 
opinion  in  the  beginning,  that  I  shall  receive  intimation  that 
my  '  usefulness  is  at  an  end '  in  this  parish,  before  winter," 
said  Mr.  Wellmont,  with  anxiety. 

"  That  would  be  no  great  misfortune ;  for  I  should  much 
prefer  to  spend  the  fashionable  season  in  the  city.  In  fact, 
now  I  think  of  it,  winter  will  be  insupportable  in  such  a 
place  as  this." 

"0,  Bertrade!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Wellmont,  "how  little 
you  understand  my  feelings  !  " 

"  Not  less  than  you  understand  mine,"  rejoined  his  wife. 

These  words  were  too  true.     Neither  understood  the  other ; 


ii-14  EDITH     HALE." 

and  both  would  have  been  vastly  happier  with  those  of  their 
own  temperament  and  manner  of  life. 

"  What  a  waste  of  sensibility  over  a  reasonable  recrea- 
tion !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wellmont,  after  an  irksome  silence. 

"  Are  you  not  aware,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  that 
this  custom,  like  many  another,  is  regarded  quite  diversely 
in  different  sections  of  the  country  ?  In  some  locations  it  is 
a  common  manner  of  travelling  for  convenience,  —  so  com- 
mon it  excites  not  even  curiosity.  In  some,  it  is  the  pre- 
vailing fashionable  pleasure ;  in  others,  as  in  this  vicinity, 
I  assure  you  it  would  occasion  a  great  deal  of  remark ;  and, 
for  the  wife  of  their  minister,  it  will  not  do  at  all." 

"It  will  do,"  answered  his  wife,  emphatically;  "and,  if 
you  don't  choose  to  assist  me,  I  shall  see  old  Father  Shaw, 
to-morrow,  about  his  white  Hagar.  She  is  a  beautiful  creat- 
ure, —  a  very  angel  of  a  horse  ;  and  Mrs.  Pickering  told  me 
he  wished  to  sell  her,  because  she  was  too  spirited  for  one  of 
his  age." 

"  I  hope  she  will  not  carry,  likewise,  the  Angel  of  Death, 
who  is  usually  represented  upon  a  pale  horse,"  said  Mr. 
Wellmont ;  "  but,  if  you  are  really  determined  in  this,  I  will 
iee  about  the  purchase  myself;  and  I  will  get  a  handsome 
chaise  to  match,  which  will  be  a  much  pleasanter  way  of 
riding." 

"  I  should  make  an  interesting  spectacle  riding  about 
in  a  chaise  alone !  "  said  Mrs.  Wellmont,  with  provoking 
obtuseness. 

"  But  I  expected  to  sit  beside  you ;  at  least,  leaving  it  to 


EDITH     HALE.  245 

your  own  choice  to  carry  the  reins,  or  whip,  or  both.  Let 
me  tell  you  now,  however,"  added  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  that  you 
know  not  with  what  you  are  engaging,  when  you  get  that 
horse.  I  rode  after  her  once,  and  she  came  near  killing 
me." 

He  did  not  tell  her  how  much  nearer  she  came  killing  the 
one  who  rode  with  him.  Nevertheless,  it  was  all  distinctly 
in  his  memory. 

"  Fie  !  "  said  Mrs.  Wellmont ;  "  a  coward  !  I  could  man- 
age her  with  two  fingers,  I  know ;  for  I  never  rode  after  a 
horse  yet  that  frightened  me.  I  would  not  give  anything  for 
a  horse  that  had  no  spirit." 

"Well,  I'll  try  for  her,  then,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  re- 
signedly; for  he  knew  further  opposition  would  be  useless, 
and  he  did  not  like  to  have  his  wife  think  him  in  reality  a 
coward. 

"  You  need  not  speak  as  though  there  were  doubt  about 
getting  her,"  observed  Mrs.  Wellmont ;  "  for  I  am  willing  to 
give  more  than  any  one  else  would  about  here.  I  will  say 
you  may  go  as  high  as  three  hundred  and  fifty,  or  four 
hundred." 

"  Father  Shaw  would  not  think  of  asking  one  half  those 
sums,"  rejoined  Mr.  Wellmont,  laughing. 

"  Our  carriage-horses  at  home  cost  six  hundred  apiece," 
said  his  wife. 

"  And  Bucephalus,  the  horse  of  Alexander  the  Great,  was 
bought  for  about  ten  thousand  dollars,"  continued  Mr.  Well- 
21* 


246  EDITH     HALE. 

mont;  "but  neither  your  instance  nor  mine  is  a  suitable 
example  for  a  poor  country  minister." 

"  There  it  comes  again !  everything  must  be  modelled  to  the 
idea  of  your  being  a  minister.  Can't  think,  speak,  dress,  or 
act,  in  anything  as  one  desires,  because,  forsooth,  you  are  a 
minister.  There  is  no  servitude  like  it.  In  fact,  our  house- 
servants  at  home  were  much  more  independent  than  I  am 
here." 

"  That  is  no  reproach,"  replied  Mr.  Wellmont,  with  a  sub- 
dued voice ;  "  the  very  meaning  of  the  word  minister  is  one 
who  serves.  What  did  the  great  Exemplar  say  of  this  ? 
'  Whosoever  will  be  great  among  you,  let  him  be  your  minis- 
ter ;  and  whosoever  will  be  chief  among  you,  let  him  be  your 
servant.  Even  as  the  Son  of  man  came  not  to  be  minis- 
tered unto,  but  to  minister,  and  to  give  his  life  a  ransom  for 
many.'" 

"  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way,  before,"  said  Mrs. 
Wellmont ;  "  our  city  ministers  are  reverenced  little  short 
of  idolatry,  and  are  elevated  to  the  highest  seats  everywhere 
they  go.  I  always  thought  it  a  fine  thing  to  marry  a  min- 
ister. But  I  wish  now  "  —  she  stopped,  blushed,  and  sighed  ; 
for  the  expression  that  rested  on  her  husband's  face  was  too 
painfully  serious  to  escape  her  notice. 

"  0,  Bcrtrade ! "  groaned  Mr.  Wellmont ;  "  this  is  the 
greatest  trial  of  all  my  life  —  to  be  instrumental  of  causing 
so  much  unhappiness  to  another,  and  that  other  a  wife !  "  He 
was  too  much  affected  to  say  more. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

"  LET   HER   SAIL." 

SUMMER  deepened  into  autumn ;  and,  with  the  exodus  of  the 
flowers,  and  many  of  the  singing  birds,  went  Mrs.  Wellmont's 
gay  visitors  to  their  city  homes,  leaving  that  lady  more  dis- 
satisfied with  the  country  and  a  parsonage  than  ever.  Mr. 
Wellmont  had  striven  as  manfully  as  possible  to  resist  and 
overcome  all  the  untoward  influences  with  which  he  had  been 
surrounded,  and  submit  himself  silently  to  his  disappoint- 
ments. Arduously  he  had  labored  for  his  people,  alone  and 
unaided,  save  by  the  Spirit  who  ever  helps  the  infirmities  of 
those  who  feel  their  need ;  and  the  people  had  said,  mean- 
while, one  to  another,  "  How  spiritual  our  minister  is  becom- 
ing !  Nearer  and  nearer  the  glories  of  heaven  he  gets  every 
Sabbath  !  This  is  the  more  surprising,"  they  added,  "  as  he 
is  in  the  midst  of  so  much  domestic  worldliness." 

Feeling  never  so  much  away  from  home  as  in  the  presence 
of  his  wife  and  her  friends,  he  had  banished  himself  almost 
entirely  to  the  solitude  of  his  study,  save  the  time  devoted  to 
his  pastoral  duties ;  and  thus  he  had  made  great  progress, 
spiritual  and  intellectual.  For  this,  a  nature  so  sensitive 


248  EDITH     HALE. 

and  naturally  yielding  to  all  the  sweet  influences  of  affec- 
tion, as  his,  must  pay  its  price.  As  a  plant,  under  the  dark 
shadows  of  an  angled  wall,  struggles  vainly  against  the  chill 
and  gloom,  and  when  the  worm  enters  its  roots  begins  to 
wither  slowly  on  its  topmost  leaves,  the  shadow  of  disease 
settled  upon  his  pale,  deeply-veined  brow,  abstracting  strength 
from  his  voice,  and  energy  from  his  system.  But,  with  the 
return  of  the  bracing  days  of  autumn,  and  a  hope  of  more 
quiet  at  home,  he  gathered  new  health,  and  seemed  more  like 
himself  again.  The  earth,  with  its  manifold  beauties,  had 
something  of  its  olden  joy  for  him,  and  a  keener  susceptibility 
to  the  friendliness  of  his  people  inspired  him  with  greater 
encouragement  than  he  had  felt  since  the  time  of  his  marriage. 
It  was  a  morning  of  all  perfections,  such  as  is  known  only 
in  September,  when  Mr.  Wellmont  performed  the  marriage  of 
Mr.  Raymond  and  Mary,  in  the  home  of  Mr.  Pickering. 
Without,  long  bars  of  sunshine  striped  the  imbrowned  lawn, 
between  the  heavy  shadows  of  the  trees.  Apples  were  falling 
with  a  pleasant  sound,  while  the  peaches  lay  in  delicious  plen- 
teousness  upon  the  ground,  or  freighted  the  branches  of  the 
trees  like  pendent  globes,  half  ruby,  half  gold.  The  grapes, 
purple  and  golden,  which  hung  about  the  trellises  in  full, 
ripening  clusters,  were  scarcely  less  luxurious  than  those  in 
the  pictures  of  the  fruit  of  Eschol.  Under  the  silver-leaf 
trees  the  leaves,  with  their  white  linings  uppermost,  lay 
thickly,  like  the  pavement  of  Odin's  silver  palace ;  and  some 
of  them,  floating  down  the  brook  which  ran  beside  the  garden, 
flashed  in  the  sunlight  like  silver  stars. 


EDITH     HALE.  249 

But  within,  more  beautiful  than  all,  was  the  bride.  Not 
beautiful  as  the  term  is  sometimes  used ;  but  in  peace,  and 
purity,  and  love,  as  a  meek-eyed  Madonna,  or  as  Hlyn  the 
Gentle,  who  kisses  away  the  tear  from  the  eye  of  the  unfortu- 
nate. She  wore  no  ornament,  save  a  few  bright  autumn 
leaves  wreathed  within  the  braids  of  her  dark  hair.  From 
these  a  gossamer  veil  depended  like  a  mist. 

Often  had  the  mother  thought  Mary  the  least  hopeful  of 
all  her  daughters,  the  heir-prospective  of  an  inferior  destiny. 
She  had  always  been  the  poorest  specimen  of  the  art  of  the 
artificial  mother ;  as  Rivarol,  the  French  satirist,  called  the 
junior  Buffon  "  the  worst  chapter  in  the  natural  history  of 
his  father."  Now,  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Pickering  had  reached 
its  highest  aim  in  this  same  neglected,  unattractive  daughter. 

Mr.  Wellmont,  on  this  occasion,  was  unusually  disturbed. 
The  habitual  equanimity  of  his  soul  was  gone.  His  voice  was 
sad  and  uncertain,  his  brow  was  even  paler  than  usual,  and 
his  thin  hands  trembled  as  he  raised  them  in  prayer.  After 
the  ceremony  he  had  few  pleasant  words  or  apposite  anecdotes 
for  each,  as  was  his  custom.  And  wherefore  ?  There  was 
one  present  whom  he  could  never  meet  without  emotion. 
Now  his  emotion  was  pain ;  for  the  presence  of  Edith  had 
awakened  all  the  memories  of  the  past,  when  the  hours  of 
love  had  filled  his  life  with  beauty.  Edith  had  never  appeared 
more  self-possessed  and  calm.  Accidentally  meeting  Mr. 
Wellmont,  she  addressed  him  with  graceful  composure,  in- 
quired if  he  were  suffering  from  ill-health,  and  concluded  by 
asking  him  to  present  her  to  his  wife. 


250  EDITH     HALE. 

"  I  s'pose  I  must  go  and  congratulate  the  bride,"  said 
Father  Shaw,  as  he  saw  one  after  another  addressing  Mary. 
"  Raymond  I  must  call  you  now,"  he  said.  "  "Well,  I  'm  right 
glad  to  see  you  lookin'  so  smilin'.  You  desarve  a  good  hus- 
band, and  I  guess  you  Ve  gut  the  article  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Father  Shaw,"  rejoined  Mary. 

"  I  hope  you  '11  both  be  happy  as  clams  till  your  shell  of 
mortality  breaks,  and  you  quit  for  the  'tarnal  world.  But 
there 's  one  thing  I  want  to  say  about  this  ere  love,  there 's 
so  much  nonsense  telled  of  now-a-days,"  he  continued,  looking 
alternately  from  Mary  to  Mr.  Raymond.  "  You  must  n't 
expect  love  will  prove  what  you  think  now  't  is.  This  ere  love 
is  plaguy  onsartin.  It 's  like  arsenic.  That  are,  you  know, 
in  some  states,  is  a  valerble  medicine,  and  makes  some  of  the 
best  paints  and  things  we  have ;  but,  in  some  other  states,  it 's 
the  deadliest  pizen,  and  will  kill  a  body  without  fail.  And 
so,  in  some  states,  love  is  a  good  thing,  and  does  a  deal  of 
sarvice  in  the  world ;  but,  ef  it  an't  used  right,  it 's  as  bad 
as  pizen,  and  will  kill  a  body's  heart  so  dead  nothin'  can  cure 
it  agin.  Now,  you,  Mister,  don't  be  such  a  fool  as  to  think 
you  '11  make  your  wife  love  you  more  by  beginnin'  to  tell  her 
how  many  other  women  have  loved  ye,  and  callin'  such  and 
such  women  you  see  about  mighty  handsome,  and  how  much 
more  Miss  So-and-so  knows  than  she,  and  goin'  round  with  a 
long  face  at  everything  she  does  that  don't  quite  suit  yer  nod- 
dle. Ef  you  do  arter  this  sort,  you  '11  find  yer  love  turnin'  to 
pizen,  quick,  I  '11  tell  ye.  The  times  are  gittin'  shockin' 
wicked  with  married  folks,  as  well  as  some  others." 


EDITH     HALE.  251 

"  That  is  jour  opinion,  then,  Father  Shaw,"  now  inter- 
rupted Mr.  "Wellmont,  who,  seemingly  with  a  wish  to  divert 
his  thoughts,  came  and  sat  near  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Father  Shaw,  without  looking  at  Mr. 
Wellmont,  "  and  of  ministers,  too  !  " 

"  Have  a  little  mercy,"  said  Mr.  Raymond,  smiling  in  good- 
humor,  for  he  well  understood  the  peculiarities  of  Father  Shaw. 
"  Ministers  should  not  be  spoken  lightly  of.  They  should 
rather  be  dignified  with  honorary  titles,  as  was  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas,  who  acquired  such  a  great  reputation  he  was  called 
the  anyelic  doctor,  the  eagle  of  divines,  the  anyel  of  the  schools, 
and  the  fifth  doctor  of  the  church." 

"  As  for  '  angelic  doctor,'  "  said  Father  Shaw,  "  I  've  no 
objection  to  that  are ;  for  most  all  women  now  think  the  doc- 
tors of  divinity  angelic ;  and  some  men  do.  But  them  other 
names  are  about  as  sensible  as  most  of  titles  gi'n  to  ministers. 
Some  on  'em,  these  days,  ought  ter  be  called  the  hawk  of 
divines,  some  the  snipe  of  dicines,  and  so  on.  As  for  Mr. 
Wellmont,  here,  I  don't  think  he  desarves  any  such  name. 
Ef  I  did  think  so,  though,  I  would  n't  say  what  I  have  said. 
But,  as  I  was  tellin'  about  vartue :  it 's  a  great  deal  wuss 
about  such  things  than  it  used  to  be  when  I  was  young. 
People  —  that  is,  some  people  —  don't  make  northin'  of  lovin' 
other  folks  now  arter  they  're  married ;  as  ef  there  was  some- 
thin'  mighty  smart  in 't,  and  as  ef  what  belongs  to  other  folks 
is  a  great  sight  better  than  what 's  a  body's  own.  But  these 
ere  ways  lead,  soon  or  later,  right  to  the  biggest  torment  of 
some  kind  or  other  that  ever  was  heard  on,  even  if  they  an't 


252  EDITH     HALE. 

found  out ;  for  there 's  One  who  sees  inter  all  hearts.  And, 
Mary,"  continued  the  old  man,  "  I  hope  you'll  be  a  maracle 
among  wives ;  for  women  are  'bout  as  bad,  generally,  as  men. 
'  Who  can  find  a  vartuous  woman  ?  '  asked  one  of  old." 

"  But,  Father  Shaw,  you  are  not  one  without  faith  in  the 
goodness  of  his  fellow-creatures,  I  hope  ? "  interrupted  Mr. 
Wellmont. 

"  No ;  I  have  a  deal  of  respect  for  good  folks,  and  'spe- 
cially for  good  women ;  and  I  b'lieve  they  an't  skass,  neither. 
I  meant  that  where  there  is  evil  doings,  women,  as  a  gineral 
thing,  are  as  much  to  blame  as  men.  Mary,  here,  is  one  of 
my  children,  and  I  talk  to  her  jest  as  I  think." 

"  Yes,  Father  Shaw,"  answered  Mary,  pleasantly,  "  I  am 
always  grateful  for  your  good  advice." 

"  I  an't  agoin'  to  keep  you  harkin'  to  an  old  man  like  me 
any. longer,  such  a  time  as  this,"  he  added;  "so,  God  bless 
you,  child,  and  your  husband,  and  make  yer  both  jest  as 
happy  all  the  days  of  yer  life  as  you  are  now,  and  bring  yer 
round  to  heaven  at  last !  " 

"  Don't  leave  us  so  soon,"  said  Mary  and  Mr.  Raymond. 

"  Yes  ;  I  feel  kinder  bad  to  think  you  're  goin'  away  where 
I  shan't  see  your  face  as  I  have  done,"  he  answered,  shaking 
Mary's  hand  heartily.  "  And  I  '11  go  home,  and  go  to  work 
in  my  shop,  to  drive  the  thoughts  on 't  away,  ef  I  can.  A 
weddin'  is  allers  as  solemn  to  me  as  a  funeral." 

Mr.  Raymond  invited  him  cordially  to  visit  them  in  their 
future  home,  adding,  as  an  inducement,  that  he  would  make 
every  effort  to  render  such  a  visit  pleasant. 


EDITH     HALE.  253 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Father  Shaw ;  "  but  I  don't  like  to  go 
to  Boston,  of  late  years.  The  noise  makes  me  dizzy-like ;  and 
to  see  all  that  bustling  harum-scarum  so  thick  everywhere 
makes  it  seem  as  ef  I  was  in  Tophet,  and  everybody  was  using 
a  drum-stick.  How  you  can  stay  in  such  a  place  all  the 
time,  I  don't  know.  I  tell  my  son  so ;  but  he  only  laughs, 
and  says  I  an't  used  to  such  things.  I  'm  sartin  I  never 
want  to  be.  Good-by."  As  he  turned  away  the  tears  came 
to  Mary's  eyes  :  for,  until  that  moment,  she  had  not. realized 
how  dear  were  her  few  old  and  tried  friends. 

Mrs.  Wellmont  had  either  omitted  to  recognize  Edith  as 
the  rejected  applicant  for  the  school  in  Birhampton,  or,  under 
the  more  favorable  auspices  in  which  she  now  appeared  as  a 
relative  of  Mr.  Raymond,  found  it  expedient  to  be  unusually 
gracious  to  her  on  this  occasion.  Mr.  Wellmont,  observing 
them  in  conversation,  and  having  some  curiosity  about  the 
nature  of  such  an  interview,  approached  their  vicinity  and 
listened,  while  he  was  apparently  engrossed  in  examining  the 
books  upon  the  table.  He  heard  his  wife  say,  in  reply  to 
some  remark  of  Edith  :  "  I  never  have  read  it ;  for,  between 
company  and  embroidery,  I  don't  get  time  to  read.  Besides, 
ladies  who  read  much  are  always  horribly  humdrum  and  blue." 
Edith  opened  her  large  eyes  a  little  wider. 

"  That  style  of  dress  in  which  Claudine  appears  to-day  is 
perfectly  lovely ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wellmont,  rapturously,  in 
the  next  breath.  "  That  lace  upon  her  collar  is  real  Valen- 
ciennes, as  I  live  !  I  declare  I  did  not  think  they  could  tell 
one  nice  lace  from  another,  here  in  this  country  place  !  " 
22 


254  EDITH     HALE. 

Edith  next  inquired  if  she  liked  residing  in  Waterbury. 

"  0,  between  us,"  she  answered,  "  I  have  a  dull  time  of  it, 
at  the  best.  Though  I  Ve  contrived  to  wear  off  the  long, 
heavy  days,  by  one  thing  and  another,  in  the  way  of  amuse- 
ment. I  ride  horseback  often,  —  my  favorite  exercise  ;  and 
every  time  the  folks  have  run  to  the  windows  and  out  of  the 
doors  to  see  me,  as  though  I  had  been  riding  on  an  elephant 
through  the  streets.  It  was  really  amusing  !  " 

Mr.  Wellmont  could  listen  no  longer.  With  a  flush  of 
pain  upon  his  face,  he  joined  them  to  inform  his  wife  that  he 
had  an  engagement  which  rendered  it  necessary  for  him  to 
leave  immediately.  Edith  displayed  no  triumph  in  this  hour 
of  her  ascendency.  She  had  not  a  disposition  for  coquetry ; 
and,  if  she  had  been  disposed  to  make  Mr.  Wellmont  conscious 
of  his  errors  of  the  past,  the  settled  mortification  he  betrayed 
was  sufficient  retribution. 

At  the  departure  of  the  bridal  party  for  the  tour  of  travel, 
an  hour  later,  Mrs.  Pickering,  by  an  effort,  shed  a  few  tears 
upon  her  richly  embroidered  handkerchief,  and,  throwing  her 
arms  with  vehemence  about  the  neck  of  her  son-in-law,  en- 
treated him  ever  to  remember  her  as  the  dear,  devoted  mother 
of  himself  and  wife ;  after  which  she  partially  swooned,  and 
was  carried  off  to  her  room.  The  father  could  say  nothing ; 
but  he  imprinted  an  affectionate  kiss  upon  Mary's  brow,  and 
turned  away  to  conceal  his  tears. 

The  appearance  of  Mrs.  Wellmont  before  Edith  rebuked 
Mr.  Wellmont  more  certainly  than  would  the  most  pungent 
and  clear  essay  upon  the  moral  necessity  of  conscientiousness 


EDITH     HALE.  255 

in  affairs  of  the  heart.  He  was  aware  of  this  truth  before  ; 
but,  in  presence  of  the  one  whom,  of  all  others,  he  had 
injured,  the  inferiority  of  his  wife  in  all  the  true  graces  of 
character  was  thoroughly  demonstrated.  Her  sarcastic  com- 
ments upon  the  people  about  them  he  felt  were  not  only 
exceedingly  injurious  to  his  position,  but  unbecoming  a  true 
lady.  This,  however,  had  become  such  a  habit  of  hers,  that 
he  lived  in  continual  apprehension  of  serious  evil ;  for  he  well 
knew  upon  no  other  point  are  people  so  sensitive  as  that  of  a 
charge  of  awkwardness,  or  the  absence  of  the  savoir  faire. 
Nothing  was  more  difficult,  he  had  already  found,  than  to 
improve  or  influence  his  wife  in  any  particular.  But,  after 
a  long  and  painful  reflection  upon  these  matters,  he  was  deter- 
mined to  risk  her  displeasure,  and  venture  one  more  note  of 
warning. 

"  It  would  be  of  great  service  to  yourself,  as  well  as  to  me, 
Bertrade,  if  you  would  not  speak  with  such  incautious  freedom 
of  people  about  us,"  he  said,  upon  a  favorable  opportunity. 

"  Indeed  !  "  she  rejoined,  with  flushing  brow.  "  Has  Miss 
Leah  visited  you  with  any  more  respectful  suggestions  ?  Or, 
has  that  long-nosed  Zephaniah  Wilkins  been  '  peaking  '  about 
here  .on  a  new  track  ?  " 

"  You  do  Miss  Leah  injustice  to  intimate  that  she  ever  said 
anything  to  me  derogatory  of  you,"  replied  Mr.  Wellmont; 
"  and  it  is  unnecessary  for  any  one  to  inform  me  of  what  is  so 
evidently  imprudent  and  injurious  to  our  usefulness  here,  as 
are  the  remarks  which  you  dispense  so  freely  about  you,  with- 
out pausing  to  look  on  whom  they  fall.  Then  you  must  be 


256  EDITH     HALE. 

aware  of  a  higher  principle  of  accountability  for  thus  using 
the  reputations  of  people." 

"  What  a  speechment ! "  rejoined  his  wife;  "quite  in  the 
vein  hypocalorum !  " 

"  In  the  vein  of  sincerity  and  seriousness,"  continued  Mr. 
Wellmont. 

"  Must  I  come  humbly  to  you,  sir,  and  repeat  what  I  have 
to  say  to  get  a  right  to  speak  before  others,  or  shall  I  go  to 
Zephaniah  Wilkins  ?  " 

"  I  deal  in  no  pragmatic  sanctions,  or  anything  of  the  kind, 
as  you  well  know,  Bertrade,"  said  Mr.  "Wellmont. 

."  You  might  as  well  deal  in  Greek  to  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Wellmont,  in  a  very  low  voice,  not  designed  for  her  husband's 
ear. 

"  If  I  know  myself  at  all,"  continued  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  I 
am  no  tyrant  to  any  one.  I  would  sooner  die  than  prove 
myself  such  an  infliction  to  my  wife,  of  all  others.  But,  in 
all  kindness,  I  must  warn  you  of  the  consequences  of  this 
imprudence." 

"  Must !  "  retorted  Mrs.  Wellmont,  ironically  ;  "I  am 
thinking  you  will  get  a  great  reward  for  your  pains !  "  She 
now  seated  herself  at  her  piano,  and  began  playing  a  quick- 
step with  great  spirit ;  but,  suddenly  breaking  off  and  turning 
about  to  confront  her  husband,  said,  "  Is  there  anything  more, 
sir,  upon  which  your  soul  is  laboring  on  my  account  ?  If  so, 
let  it  be  told  now,  once  for  all ;  for  I  have  also  to  say,  with  no 
less  dignity  than  your  own,  that  I  will  not  submit  to  so  much 
censure  upon  my  actions !  " 


EDITH     HALE.  257 

"  Yes,  there  is  something  more,  Bertrade,"  answered  Mr. 
Wellmont ;  "  your  persisting  in  riding  horseback.  While 
your  company  from  the  city  remained,  I  forbore  to  interfere. 
But  now  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  —  " 

"  This  is  beyond  endurance  !  "  interrupted  Mrs.  Wellmont. 
"  Be  assured  I  shall  not  take  any  notice  of  such  squeamish- 
ness.  Indeed,  I  have  been  advised  by  my  own  friends  not  to 
sacrifice  everything  because  I  have  been  so  unfortunate  as  to 
marry  a  minister." 

Mr.  Wellmont  said  no  more,  but  retired  by  himself  to 
prepare  for  a  prayer  meeting  which  was  appointed  for  the 
evening. 

"  Surely,"  he  said,  as  he  seated  himself  before  his  Bible, 
"  the  preparation  of  the  heart  of  man  is  from  the  Lord ;  else, 
with  so  many  hindrances,  I  should  utterly  fail.  But,  let  my 
cry  be  ever,  as  was  that  of  the  crusaders  of  old  to  the  Holy 
Land  —  '  God  wills  it ! '  " 

How  often  does  man  respond  "  God  wills  it ! "  to  the 
afflictions  which  are  the  natural  result  of  his  own  previous 
wilfulness,  and  thus  shield  himself  from  responsibility  ! 

Mrs.  Wellmont  was  so  much  vexed  at  these  reproofs  of  her 
husband,  that  she  could  find  no  relief  for  her  perturbation  until 
she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  her  cousin  Frank,  a  confi- 
dential beau  of  many  years'  standing,  detailing  the  privations, 
provocations,  and  all  the  other  aggravations  of  her  lot  as 
the  wife  of  a  country  minister,  concluding  by  a  half-score  of 
tender  regrets  that  she  had  so  unwisely  placed  herself  in 
such  a  situation.  Having  thus  partially  relieved  her  mind, 
22* 


258  EDITH    HALE. 

she  put  on  one  of  her  equestrian  suits,  and,  selecting  a  bridle 
she  had  been  recently  embroidering,  went  to  the  stable  to 
mount  Hagar  for  a  horseback  ride.  As  she  rode  down  the 
yard,  she  looked  up,  and,  perceiving  her  husband  at  the  study 
window,  with  a  defiant  toss  of  her  head  galloped  away  with 
unusual  animation. 

Mr.  Wellmont  could  scarcely  resist  the  magnetism  of  so 
much  impertinence,  although  in  the  very  fervor  of  an  exposi- 
tion of  a  chapter  of  the  Acts.  With  a  bitter  smile,  he  said 
to  himself — not  exactly  anything  so  unclerical  as  "  Let  her 
slide  !  "  but,  instead,  a  line  from  Homer,  — 

"  Yet,  if  the  gods  demand  her,  let  her  sail !  " 

At  the  first  turn  of  the  street  Mrs.  Wellmont  encountered 
Zephaniah  Wilkins.  She  quickly  drew  up,  and  motioned  him 
to  her  side.  With  a  look  of  mysterious  solemnity  she  said, 
"  See  here  !  they  say  there  is  a  menagerie  over  in  Birhamp- 
ton.  Do  you  think  they  have  anything  there  that  attracts  so 
much  attention  as  I  do  here,  on  horseback  ?  " 

Before  he  had  time  to  think  of  an  answer,  she  had  swept 
by,  leaving  him  only  the  satisfaction  of  gazing  after  her 
retreating  figure. 

"  If  that  woman  were  only  my  wife,"  he  muttered,  with 
acerbity,  "  I  would  train  her  so  that  she  should  not  be  seen 
against  my  will  more  than  once  !  " 

A  pity  that  all  refractory  women  could  not  be  "  trained  " 
by  such  men  as  Zephaniah  Wilkins ! 

Dashing  up  to  the  post-office,  Mrs.  "Wellmont  threw  her 


EDITH    HALE.  259 

letter  within  the  open  door,  and  requested  a  boy  who  stood 
there  to  put  it  in  the  mail.  Never  did  she  attract  more 
notice  than  now,  as  she  rode  through  the  village.  On  all 
sides  she  saw  in  secret  gratification,  with  half  an  eye,  the 
people  pausing  to  gaze  after  her.  In  consonance  with  her 
feelings,  she  carried  herself  regally,  permitting  a  few  long 
curls,  that  had  escaped  from  her  jaunty  cap,  to  float  unconfined 
over  her  shoulders,  pushing  her  veil  aside  so  that  it  floated 
attractively  in  the  breeze,  and  flourishing  her  dainty  whip 
with  a  hand  encased  neatly  in  a  glove  of  rose-colored  kid. 
From  her  variety  of  riding  dresses  she  had  selected  for  this 
time  a  black  velvet  skirt,  with  a  bodice  of  white  satin,  lined 
and  deeply  trimmed  with  ermine,  which  all  contrasted  effect- 
ively with  the  milk-white  Hagar. 

As  she  passed  the  house  of  Father  Shaw,  the  horse  turned 
to  stop  at  the  old  home,  upon  which  she  received  a  smart 
hint  to  proceed,  and  obeyed  in  high  spirit.  Miss  Leah,  who 
was  sitting  at  one  of  the  front  windows  and  saw  it  all,  lifted 
her  hands  in  unmitigated  horror,  exclaiming  in  a  jeremiade 
upon  the  degeneracy  of  the  times.  In  the  door  of  his  shop 
her  father  stood  and  shook  his  head  decidedly,  while  he  said, 
"  It  won't  do  !  Mr.  "Wellmont  preaches  well,  —  is  a  real  good 
man  every  way  in  the  world,  —  but  he  must  take  that  ere 
woman  off  to  the  city ;  for  it  looks  as  bad  here  to  see  such 
things,  as  it  did  to  John  when  he  see  a  woman  set  on  a  beast 
full  of  names  of  blasphemy,  and  having  seven  heads  and  ten 
horns." 

Onward,  in  triumph  and  indifference,  proceeded  the  subject 


260  EDITH     HALE. 

of  these  various  comments,  till  she  had  quite  left  the  village. 
Coming  at  length  into  a  strip  of  road  more  solitary  than  that 
over  which  she  had  passed,  she  slackened  the  speed  of  Hagar, 
and  soon  became  absorbed  in  her  own  reflections.  Nothing 
can  be  truer  to  the  real  character  of  a  person  than  his  secret 
thoughts,  undisturbed  by  outward  impressions,  whether  they 
be  heart  communings  upon  one's  own  bed,  or  upon  horseback, 
as  was  the  position  of  Mrs.  Wellmont.  She  was  recalling 
some  of  the  brilliant  hours  of  her  past  life,  when  triumphs 
had  clustered  thickly  about  her  like  diamonds  in  the  crown 
of  a  queen ;  the  hearts  she  had  broken,  like  glass  goblets 
shivered  in  a  challenge ;  the  lady  rivals  she  had  crushed,  like 
roses  robbed  of  their  bright  leaves,  one  after  another,  and  then 
thrown  down,  to  be  trampled  by  careless  steps  and  forgotten  in 
the  earth. 

"  After  all,"  she  said,  "  I  threw  myself  away  on  a  poor 
country  minister  !  I,  with  all  my  beauty,  fashion,  and  wealth ! 
How  it  happened  I  can  scarcely  understand.  At  first  sight,  I 
admired  him.  There  was  something  about  his  hair,  fine  blue 
eyes,  and  musical  voice,  so  diiferent  from  the  beaux  who 
usually  paid  me  homage,  I  was  fascinated.  Then,  too,  I  was 
foolish  enough  to  regard  his  position  as  a  minister  with  pride ; 
but  I  little  dreamed  what  all  that  signified.  His  manifest 
polished  politeness,  which  I  can  now  see  was  the  result  of 
indifference,  piqued  and  interested  me,  so  that  I  was  fain  to 
appear  entirely  different  from  myself  to  please  him.  I 
affected  seriousness,  wisdom,  and  every  sort  of  nonsense;  and 
now,  when  I  see  that  he  never  really  cared  a  fig  for  me,  — 


EDITH     HALE.  261 

» 

and  it  is  an  impossible  thing  that  he  ever  should,  —  I  get  my 
full  pay  for  all  my  deception.  No  wonder  some  of  my  friends 
said  there  never  was  a  more  unsuitable  match  than  mine.  I 
have  bound  my  once  free  life  with  inevitable  chains,  —  not  of 
gold,  that  would  be  endurable,  but  of  rusty,  grating  iron,  — 
and  they  gall  me  to  the  heart." 

The  horse  had  now  reached  a  part  of  the  way  which  was 
shaded  heavily  on  either  side  by  a  dense  and  lofty  wood. 
Through  this  Mrs.  Wellmont  had  often  rode ;  but  never 
before  had  it  struck  her  with  such  a  sense  of  loneliness.  The 
road  ran  in  a  straight  direction  for  some  distance  ahead,  so  that 
she  could  look  forward  and  see  the  hills  and  meadow  lands 
beyond  the  wood,  illumined  by  the  golden  light  of  the  setting 
sun ;  but  this  more  cheerful  prospect  failed  to  relieve  the 
uncomfortable  impression  of  density  which  was  shed  from 
the  dark  old  trees  around  her.  The  slightest  rustle  among 
the  underbrush,  or  the  motion  of  a  squirrel  along  the  tree- 
trunks,  disturbed  her  so  much,  that  a  cold,  shuddering  awe 
crept  over  her  soul. 

"  'When  the  sun  sets,  shadows,  that  showed  at  noon 
But  small,  appear  most  long  and  terrible  ; 
So,  when  we  think  fate  hovers  o'er  our  heads, 
Our  apprehensions  shoot  beyond  all  bounds  ; 
Owls,  ravens,  crickets,  seem  the  watch  of  death  ; 
Echoes,  the  very  leaving  of  a  voice, 
Grow  babbling  ghosts,  and  call  us  to  our  graves." 

An  indefinable  impression  of  evil  brooded  over  Mrs.  Well- 
mont, and,  urging  Hagar  to  proceed,  she  said  to  herself, 


2G2  EDITH     HALE. 

» 

scarcely  daring  to  look  within  the  trees,  lest  she  might  see 
something  to  startle  her  anew,  "  How  foolish  in  me  to  come 
so  far  alone  to-night !  but  I  dare  not  go  back  through  this 
gloomy  way  now."  The  woods  were  nearly  cleared,  and  she 
formed  a  resolution  to  return  by  another  and  more  open  road, 
when  suddenly  Hagar  stopped  fully,  and,  raising  her  ears, 
breathed  furiously,  refusing  to  proceed. 

Mrs.  Wellmont  looked  hurriedly  on  either  side  of  the 
way  to  discover  the  cause,  but  nothing  unusual  could  be 
seen.  Had  Hagar  partaken  of  her  fear  without  cause  ?  She 
would  urge  her  on,  and  inspire  her  with  new  courage.  She 
spoke  to  hdr  with  spirit,  and  applied  the  whip.  At  the  same 
moment,  glancing  ahead,  she  saw  —  it  was  something  past  her 
knowledge  —  a  monster,  white  and  awful,  just  emerging  into 
view  along  the  road  ! 

An  overmastering  fear  smote  her  to  the  heart.  The  danger 
of  her  situation,  alone  in  that  solitary  spot,  unknowing  whither 
to  turn  for  aid,  she  comprehended  at  once.  Hagar,  trembling 
violently,  now  turned  backward  in  the  direction  she  had  come, 
and  started  off  at  alarming  speed.  Perceiving  the  imminent 
risk  of  falling  from  her  seat,  Mrs.  Wellmont  clung  convul- 
sively to  the  neck  of  the  horse,  too  much  overcome  with 
affright  to  think  of  any  other  expedient  for  her  safety. 
Soon  approaching  a  descent,  steep  and  circuitous,  in  an  increas- 
ing sense  of  peril,  she  tightened  her  grasp,  and  made  a  faint 
effort  to  regain  her  control.  But  this  only  inspired  Hagar  to 
new  exertions.  Downward  furiously  they  were  dashing  over 
the  pebbles,  which,  under  the  sharp  foot-fall,  seemed  sud- 


EDITH     HALE.  263 

denly  changed  to  a  path  of  fire,  when  the  horse  stumbled  and 
fell  headlong. 

Swifter  than  light  Mrs.  Wellmont's  last  recollection  came, 
that  she  had  been  thrown  to  the  ground,  and  was  dying. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

CHANGES. 

THAT  evening,  the  people  of  the  village  of  Waterbury 
beheld  a  long  train  of  singular  wagons  approaching,  preceded 
by  an  elephant,  under  a  white  cover,  and  guided  by  the  keeper. 

"When,  behold!  a  sudden  sandquake — and  between  the  earth  and 

moon 

Rose  a  mighty  host  of  shadows,  as  from  out  some  dim  lagoon  : 
Then  our  coursers  gasped  with  terror,  and  a  thrill  shook  every  man, 
And  the  cry  was  Allah  Akbar  !  'tis  the  Spectre  Caravan  !  " 

With  less  fear,  but  with  scarcely  less  astonishment,  did 
many  of  the  villagers  behold  the  menagerie,  some  of  the 
features  of  which  looked  not  far  from  spectral,  in  the  white 
shrouds  of  tent  cloths,  and  the  solemn  progress  of  the  pro- 
cession. As  the  train  approached,  one  of  the  wagons,  drawn 
by  eight  ponies,  attracted  especial  attention.  Within  this,  it 
was  surmised  by  the  curious  spectators,  was  something  more 
precious  and  wonderful  than  all ;  for  two  of  the  keepers  sat 
in  the  foremost  part,  and  held  some  object  with  evident  solic- 
itude and  care.  Just  behind,  in  the  rear  of  this  wagon,  was 


EDITH     HALE.  265 

a  high,  cage  of  monkeys,  covered,  but  not  sufficiently  to  pre- 
vent the  discovery  of  their  faces  from  various  small  apertures. 
Many  of  the  people  left  their  places  of  business  for  obser- 
vation, while  the  children  crowded  on  either  side,  divided 
between  awe  and  merriment  at  the  marvellous  spectacle.  The 
strangers  were  closely  surrounded,  till  they  halted  at  the  hotel. 
Here  one  of  the  keepers  informed  the  landlord  that  they 
carried  with  them  a  lady,  whom  they  had  taken  up  by  the 
way,  insensible,  if  not  dead.  She  had  been  thrown  from  a 
horse,  they  said,  which  had  taken  fright  at  the  sight  of  the 
elephant ;  and,  after  running  with  violence,  had  fallen  so  as 
to  be  killed  immediately.  Concluding  that  the  lady  came 
from  that  direction,  they  had  brought  her  thus  far. 

Eager  and  fearful  was  now  the  investigation  of  the  identity 
of  this  lady.  But  it  did  not  require  a  second  glance  to  dis- 
cern that  she  was  none  other  than  Mrs.  "Wellmont. 

The  sensations  of  the  people,  at  this  singular  discovery, 
are  better  imagined  than  described ;  or,  in  the  language  of 
story-tellers  from  the  time  of  the  father  of  anecdotes,  they 
"beggared  description."  Mrs.  Wellmo"nt  was  immediately 
conveyed  to  her  home,  and  placed  in  charge  of  Dr.  Hum- 
phrey, while  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  summon  her 
husband,  who  had  just  entered  the  prayer  meeting  in  the 
vestry  of  the  church.  Mr.  Wellmont  came  with  a  heart  full 
of  unspeakable  emotion.  After  inquiring  minutely  about  the 
circumstances  connected  with  the  event,  he  said,  within  him- 
self, "  I  can  but  exclaim,  as  the  soldier  said  to  Marius, 
when  he  was  struck,  '  Behold  the  sword  which  thyself  has 
23 


266  EDITH     HALE. 

forged ! '  I  knew  that  such  sentiments  as  she  entertained 
towards  this  people,  and  the  want  of  a  sense  of  responsibility 
for  her  example  which  she  manifested,  were  bringing  her 
swiftly  toward  calamity;  for  nothing  is  truer  than  '  a  haughty 
spirit  goeth  before  a  fall.'  " 

His  subsequent  reflections,  however,  affected  himself  most 
poignantly ;  for,  to  one  constituted  like  him,  with  so  much  of 
the  sense  of  propriety,  such  a  remarkable  contre-temps  seemed 
to  him  nothing  short  of  positive  disgrace.  With  these  feel- 
ings, how  could  he  stand  in  the  pulpit  on  the  Lord's  day,  and 
again  address  his  congregation,  in  whose  thought  he  believed 
the  adventure  of  his  wife  would  be  ever  present  ? 

It  was  ascertained  that  Mrs.  Wellmont  had  not  been  se- 
riously injured;  but,  in  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Humphrey,  the 
nature  of  her  injuries  would  oblige  her  to  be  an  invalid  for 
some  time.  Some  manifestations  of  sympathy  were  oifered  ; 
but,  for  the  most  part,  they  were  rather  ambiguous.  Mrs. 
Welhnont's  very  few  particular  friends  regarded  it  unpopular 
now  to  be  actively  upon  a  side  which  was  battered  with  so 
much  ridicule.  "  When  thou  doest  well  by  thyself,  all  men 
will  praise  thee,"  says  the  proverb  ;  and  it  is  equally  true  of 
one  phase  of  human  nature,  that,  when  one  does  ill  by  one's 
self,  all  will  unite  in  condemnation.  Many  were  so  unfeeling 
as  to  speak  very  freely  of  the  affair ;  and  it  became  a  current 
saying  among  some  of  the  people  that  Mrs.  Wellmont  had  at 
last  created  as  much  sensation  as  even  she  could  desire ;  hav- 
ing rode  through  the  village  with  an  elephant  in  the  van,  and 
monkeys  in  the  rear  ! 


EDITH     HALE.  267 

Zephaniah  Wilkins  appeared  to  derive  a  triumphant  satis- 
faction from  this  state  of  things,  for  Mrs.  Wellmont  had 
never  been  under  his  patronage;  and  he  lost  no  time  in  bring- 
ing these  remarks  to  the  knowledge  of  Mr.  Wellmont. 

Some  men  in  Mr.  TVellmont's  situation  would  have  con- 
cealed their  chagrin  under  the  guise  of  indifference,  or  a  calm 
resignation.  But  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  keenly 
did  he  suffer,  till  his  imagination  was  continually  haunted  by 
the  picture  of  his  wife's  misadventure,  as  she  thus  became 
the  compassion  of  all,  and  the  jest  of  many.  On  the  suc- 
ceeding Sabbath  he  was  too  ill  to  preach,  and  his  pulpit  was 
supplied  by  one  of  those  preachers  who  hold  themselves  in 
readiness  to  meet  the  exigences  of  their  fellow  laborers. 

Mrs.  Wellmont  would  have  suffered  for  the  want  of  friendly 
attentions  at  this  period,  had  it  not  been  for  Miss  Leah.  That 
lady,  whom  Mrs.  Wellmont  had  so  often  stigmatized  as  "  the 
stiff  old  maid,"  now  proved  her  best  and  most  generous  friend, 
—  generous  in  truth,  because  she  aided  her  efficiently  with  her 
own  personal  efforts.  At  first,  Miss  Leah  offered  her  atten- 
tions with  cautious  hesitation ;  but  when  she  found  that  she 
was  indispensably  useful,  she  volunteered  to  spend  the  greater 
portion  of  every  day  with  Mrs.  Wellmont,  contributing  to  her 
comfort  in  numberless  ways.  At  the  same  time  she  con- 
tinued her  charge  of  her  father's  house  as  before,  doing  all  so 
nicely  and  thoroughly,  by  extra  and  systematic  effort,  that 
Mrs.  Wellmont  could  not  have  supposed  such  capability  pos- 
sible, had  she  not  resorted  to  the  idea  that  "  Miss  Leah  had 
always  been  used  to  work  as  much  as  a  servant." 


268  EDITH     HALE. 

Among  the  people  who  called  upon  Mrs.  Wellmont  in  her 
convalescence,  was  her  cousin,  Mr.  Swinton. 

"  We  read,"  said  Mr.  Swinton,  in  one  of  his  characteristic 
flourishes,  "  that  when  Venus  heard  that  Adonis  was  mor- 
tally wounded,  she  hurried  to  his  assistance ;  and,  in  her 
haste,  her  foot  was  wounded  by  a  rose-bush,  the  flowers  of 
which,  formerly  white,  from  that  time  took  the  color  of  blood. 
When  she  reached  the  spot,  she  found  him  lifeless  on  the 
grass ;  and,  to  alleviate  her  grief,  and  preserve  his  memory, 
she  transformed  him  into  an  anemone !  Now,  my  dear  Ber- 
trade,  with  a  slight  change,  —  as,  for  instance,  instead  of  Ve- 
nus your  humble  servant,  and  in  place  of  Adonis  yourself,  — 
though  not  quite  mortally  wounded,  this  little  mythological 
episode  is  somewhat  to  the  present  point.  I  find,  however, 
that  you  are  already  transformed  into  a  snow-white  lily  ;  for 
nothing  so  much  does  the  extreme  pallor  of  your  face  resem- 
ble ;  though  I  am  reminded  of  the  exclamation  in  Coleridge's 
Christabel : 

'  Her  face,  0  call  it  pure,  not  pale  ! '  " 

"  I  appeal  to  your  ministerial  candor,  if  Mr.  Wellmont 
look  not  most  like  the  lily  pale,  with  a  shade  of  the  gosling- 
green  of  melancholy,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

"  He  is  certainly  rather  unearthly-looking,  at  present, 
and  — " 

"  You  would  say  of  me,"  interrupted  Mr.  Wellmont,  with 
a  faint  attempt  at  humor,  "as  a  French  satirist  said  of  Cham- 
fort,  '  He  is  nothing  more  than  a  sprig  of  lily  grafted  on  a 
poppy -head  ! ' " 


EDITH     HALE.  269 

"  0,  no,  my  dear  sir,  you  are  only  inhaling  the  essence  of 
sympathy  —  that's  all;  you  will  revive  presently,"  said  the 
man  of  roses. 

"  Such  a  pity  I  ever  came  to  this  horrid  country  place !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Wellmont,  impatiently,  twisting  the  satin 
loops  of  her  wrapper.  "  In  the  time  I  have  been  here  I 
have  met  with  all  sorts  of  perplexities ;  and  now  I  positively 
aver  I  will  not  remain  here.  I  will  go  home  as  soon  as  I 
am  able." 

"  Xo  danger  of  not  leaving  here ;  for  the  people  are  not 
less  anxious  to  have  us  go,"  replied  her  husband. 

"  You  mistake  entirely,"  observed  Mr.  Swinton.  "  From 
my  personal  knowledge,  I  can  testify  you  are  very  much 
beloved  here." 

"  Yes,  he  is,  by  a  few  prosy,  stupid  ignoramuses,  I  dare 
say  !  "  rejoined  Mrs.  AVellmont. 

"  Bertrade  !  "  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  with  great  seriousness, 
"  I  hoped  your  recent  misfortune  would  have  shown  you  the 
danger  of  judgment  for  idle  words." 

Mrs.  AVellmont  was  upon  the  point  of  rejoining  in  high 
spirit,  when  Mr.  Swinton  interposed.  "  Come,  my  friends," 
said  he,  "  I  made  this  match,  and  I  have,  therefore,  an  interest 
that  it  shall  end  well." 

"  'T  was  a  match  unusually  well  tipped  with  phosphorus ! " 
said  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

"  Exceedingly  brilliant,  I  admit,"  rejoined  Mr.  Swinton, 
with  a  hearty  laugh. 
23* 


270  EDITH     HALE. 

"  And  so  very  fiery,  that  I  am  in  danger  of  getting  my 
fingers  burned,"  continued  Mr.  Wellniont,  with  a  smile. 

"  Come,  come !  "  said  Mr.  Swinton,  "  it 's  getting  warm 
here;  let  us  introduce  a  little  of  the  oil  of  conciliation  to  heal 
the  burns." 

"  Some  of  your  sweet  oil,  perfumed  with  the  attar  of  roses, 
would  be  agreeable  just  now,"  said  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

"  I  wish  I  had,  for  your  husband,  some  of  that  oil  which, 
as  the  Psalmist  says,  '  maketh  the  face  to  shine,'  he  is  looking 
so  lugubrious,"  rejoined  Mr.  Swinton. 

"  I  would  prefer,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  that  Bertrade 
would  learn  to  regard  the  reproof  of  the  righteous,  as  did  the 
Psalmist  when  he  called  it  '  an  excellent  oil  which  shall  not 
break  my  head.' " 

"  I  have  come  near  breaking  my  neck  already,  and  do  not 
choose  to  run  any  more  risks,"  retorted  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

"  I  shall  certainly  be  obliged  to  take  my  departure," 
observed  Mr.  Swinton,  at  this  juncture. 

"  In  constant  danger  of  an  explosion,  are  you  not  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Wellmont,  who  had  rallied  his  spirits  considerably. 

"  0,  no  !  I  have  no  fears  of  anything  either  of  you  can 
say ;  but  I  must  confess,  my  dear  friends,  the  responsibility 
of  preserving  peace  here  is  momentarily  becoming  heavier." 

"  Since  you  are  bold  enough  to  intimate  that  you  have  no 
apprehension  of  the  effect  of  our  words,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont, 
"  I  must  say  that  you,  Mr.  Swinton,  remind  me  of  a  flea  — " 

"  A  flea ! "  interrupted  Mr.  Swinton ;  "  I,  a  minister  of 


EDITH     HALE.  271 

the  Gospel,  remind  you,  a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  of  a.  flea! 
0,  degenerate !  " 

"  What  would  the  people  say,"  observed  Mrs.  Wellmont, 
"  could  they  hear  you  two  ministers  now  ?  I  guess  they  would 
shorten  their  long  faces  a  trifle  !  " 

"  I  was  about  to  say,"  resumed  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  that 
Latreille  mentions  a  flea  who  dragged  a  silver  cannon  on 
wheels  that  was  twenty-four  times  its  own  weight.  This  can- 
non was  charged  with  powder  and  fired,  without  the  flea  mani- 
festing the  least  alarm.  And  this  was  brought  to  my  mind 
by  your  alleged  burden  of  responsibility  in  our  behalf,  and 
yet  not  confessing  alarm  at  our  random  shots." 

"  Ridiculous !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wellmont ;  "  well  may  you 
blame  me  for  '  idle  words ' !  " 

"  We  gentlemen  never  allow  our  wives  the  liberty  we  take 
ourselves,"  said  Mr.  Swinton ;  "  for  instance,  I  should  not 
allow  my  wife  to  kiss  another  man,  but  I  shall  take  the 
liberty  of  kissing  you,  Bertrade,  now  that  I  am  about  to 
leave." 

The  brow  of  Mr.  Wellmont  suddenly  flushed  now ;  there 
was  a  sacredness  about  the  idea  of  his  wife  which  he  could 
not  have  thus  desecrated  without  displeasure.  He  looked  upon 
her  with  secret  curiosity,  to  observe  how  she  received  such 
familiarity.  "  Mr.  Swinton  is  her  cousin,  but  what  matters 
that?"  he  thought, 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  not  a  man  who  held  kissing  a  common 
article  of  exchange. 

"  By  the  way,  cousin,"  said  Mrs.  Wellmont,  "  how  is  your 


272  EDIT1I     HALE. 

wife  getting  on  now  ?  I  had  almost  forgotten  to  inquire  for 
her." 

"  She  is  about  as  ever ;  absorbed  with  her  housekeeping 
and  babies,"  he  said. 

"Has  she  improved  upon  that  old  melancholy  at  all?  I 
iised  to  think,  when  I  was  at  your  house,  it  made  her  dull," 
continued  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

"  I  can't  say  as  she  has  improved  in  anything,"  said  Mr. 
Swinton,  affecting  to  joke ;  "she  is  more  nervous  than  ever, 
and  I  can  scarcely  look  at  her  without  the  tears  coming  to 
my  eyes.  I  think  I  shall  shut  up  house  in  the  spring,  and  let 
her  go  home  to  her  father's  for  a  while,  with  the  children." 

"  And  you  will  board  in  blessed  independence?  "  said  Mrs. 
Wellmont,  laughing. 

"  Exactly.  But,  in  the  language  of  another,"  said  Mr. 
Swinton,  turning  toward  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  may  I  taste  the 
nectar  of  her  lip?  " 

"  I  leave  her  at  perfect  liberty,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont, 
coldly. 

"  For  the  first  time !  "  observed  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

"  You  don't  intend  to  say,  Bertrade,"  said  Mr.  Swinton, 
"  that  this  kiss  will  be  for  the  first  time !  You  would  not  try 
to  make  your  husband  believe  that !  " 

"  Worse  and  worse !  "  thought  Mr.  Wellmont. 

His  wife  laughed  violently.  "  What  a  funny  man  !  "  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Well,  I  must  go,"  said  Mr.  Swinton,  rising  suddenly,  and 
putting  his  arm  about  Mrs.  Wellmont,  while  he  kissed  her. 


EDITH     HALE.  273 

With  another  flourish,  which  he  intended  for  a  closing 
address,  he  bowed  himself  out.  Mr.  Wellmont  also  left  the 
room,  but  his  countenance  expressed  very  different  emotions 
from  that  of  Mr.  Swinton. 

Shortly  after  this,  Mrs.  Wellmont  observed  to  her  husband 
that  she  had  a  serious  subject  upon  her  mind,  which  troubled 
her  very  much,  and  she  would  like  his  advice.  Such  words 
from  the  lips  of  his  wife  astonished  Mr.  Wellmont.  He  half 
surmised  that  her  accident  had  affected  her  brain.  A  possi- 
bility that  this  disciplinary  period  might  effect  some  beneficial 
change  in  her  manner  of  feeling  was  also  suggested  to  him. 
His  speculations  were  soon  terminated  by  Mrs.  Wellmont  say- 
ing, "  I  have  been  thinking  where  is  the  best  spot  in  which  to 
bury  poor  Hagar.  She  must  have  a  suitable  grave." 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  disappointed,  but,  not  wishing  to  be 
always  censorious,  he  answered,  "  Perhaps  she  might  be 
interred  at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  under  the  walnut  trees  by 
the  summer  house.  The  noble  horse  of  the  Cid  was  buried 
under  the  trees  before  the  convent  in  which  were  his  master's 
remains." 

Mrs.  Wellmont  never  could  agree  with  her  husband  ;  so  she 
determined  that  Hagar  should  be  laid,  next  day,  in  a  shady 
plat  by  the  spring,  upon  the  other  side  of  the  garden. 

Within  the  following  week,  Mr.  Wellmont  left  the  village 
for  an  indefinite  absence,  the  object  of  which  no  one,  not  even 
Zephaniah  Wilkins,  precisely  knew,  though  it  was  surmised 
that  he  had  gone  to  obtain  another  situation.  He  had  thought 
of  Mr.  Phanuel,  who  was  now  residing  in  the  city  of  L , 


274  EDITH     HALE. 

and  to  him  was  his  destination  directed.  Mr.  Phanuel  received 
him  with  cordiality,  —  as  much,  in  fact,  as  he  was  capable  of 
showing  any  man,  —  heard  the  relation  of  his  troubles,  and  set 
himself  about  at  once  to  devise  some  way  for  his  assistance. 
After  some  consideration,  he  said,  "  I  think  I  can  get  you 
introduced  to  a  church  here  in  the  city,  which  at  this  time 
is  destitute  of  a  pastor.  It  is  not  exactly  the  church  for  you, 
but  I  know  of  no  better  at  present." 

"  Of  what  kind  of  people  is  it  composed?  "  inquired  Mr. 
Wellmont. 

"  It  is  a  new  church,  made  up  of  a  variety  of  elements,  like 
all  churches.  They  have  never  agreed  upon  a  pastor  since 
their  organization,  about  a  year  since.  But,  if  they  can  be 
brought  to  unite  upon  such  a  man  as  you,  I  think  they  might 
become  powerful  in  time." 

"  I  must  congratulate  you,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  at  the 
conclusion  of  their  conversation  upon  this  matter,  "  upon  your 
present  home,  so  well  appointed  in  all  respects.  It  must  be 
very  pleasant  to  your  wife  and  family,  as  well  as  to  your- 
self." 

"  I  supposed  you  already  knew  that  my  wife  no  longer 
lives  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Phanuel. 

Mr.  Wellmont  started  with  surprise. 

"  Impossible ! "  he  exclaimed,  upon  the  impulse  of  the 
moment. 

"  Not  at  all,"  responded  Mr.  Phanuel,  decidedly.  "  It  was 
not  very  fitting  to  bring  such  a  woman  into  this  sphere,"  he 
added,  with  a  sneer. 


EDITH     HALE.  275 

"  I  thought  Mrs.  Phanuel  a  most  excellent  person,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Wellmont,  in  greater  surprise. 

"  People  are  often  deceived  about  these  things,"  continued 
Mr.  Phanuel.  "  That  she  was  a  most  ordinary  woman  you 
must  have  seen." 

Mr.  Wellniont  had  opened  his  lips  in  remonstrance ;  but 
Mr.  Phanuel  waved  his  hand  impatiently,  and  went  on. 

"  My  relations  know  her  well,  and  they  all  hate  her.  I, 
too,  know  something  of  her,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  and  I  say 
that  I  have  no  idea  of  her  being  around  in  my  sight  longer. 
I  am  tired  of  her  humdrum,  plain  ways.  She  is  old-fashioned 
and  ugly.  Then,  too,  if  she  is  at  the  head  of  my  house,  good 
heavens !  what  would  the  world  here  think  of  me  ?  " 

Mr.  Wellmont  sighed  heavily,  and  the  perspiration  suddenly 
started  to  his  brow. 

"  Her  character  has  been  irreproachable,  has  it  not  ?  "  he 
inquired,  cautiously. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Mr.  Phanuel,  reluctantly;  "but 
her  goodness  is  a  sort  that  is  in  no  danger  of  being  tempted." 

He  stopped  that  he  might  laugh,  loudly,  but  coldly,  as 
hail-stones  sound  when  they  strike  against  the  window- 
pane. 

"  Faugh !  "  he  added,  "  she  's  just  the  sort  that 's  called 
good,  merely  because  they  an't  capable  of  getting  any  higher 
name." 

"  Goodness  is  never  to  be  underrated,"  commented  Mr. 
Wellmont,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Every  man  is  the  best  able  to  judge  of  what  he  is  about,' 


276  EDITH     HALE. 

said  Mr.  Phamiel ;  "  and,  when  I  am  once  decided  in  a  course 
of  action,  I  am  apt  to  go  forward  without  let  or  hindrance. 
But  we  will  waive  this  subject,  which  is  not  agreeable  to  me, 
if  you  please,"  he  added. 

"  Do  you  recollect  a  lady  whom  you  met  once  at  my  house 
in  Waterbury,  —  the  one  you  compared  to  an  author  —  George 
Dust,  or  some  such  name?"  inquired  Mr.  Phanuel,  to  change 
the  topic. 

"  I  remember  one  of  your  visitors  reminded  me  of  an 
authoress  who  goes  by  the  name  of  George  Sand,"  replied 
Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  That 's  the  lady,"  said  Mr.  Phanuel ;  "  she  resides  next 
door  to  us,  and  is  in  here  frequently.  A  splendid  woman !  " 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  silent.  What  words  could  he  find  to 
say  ?  Certainly  not  the  words  which  were  uppermost  in  his 
heart,  to  a  man  who  had  always  conducted  toward  him  so 
munificently,  and  had  just  given  a  new  proof  of  his  friend- 
ship. Mr.  Phanuel  nest  drew  from  his  pocket  a  large  roll 
of  bank-bills,  and  commenced  counting  from  them  aloud,  till 
he  had  reached  the  number  of  one  hundred. 

"  There,"  said  he,  offering  the  sum  to  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  take 
that  as  a  free  gift  from  an  old  friend.  You  will  require  some 
money  to  spend  here  in  the  city,  and  I  am  one  who  believes 
in  remembering  the  ministers  of  God." 

Mr.  Wellmont  at  first  refused,  with  acknowledgments ;  but, 
on  being  urged,  he  pocketed  the  money,  and  whatever  reproofs 
he  felt  toward  the  man,  together. 

"  You  will  make  my  house  your  home  during  your  stay 


ED  ITU     HALE.  277 

here,"  concluded  Mr.  Phanuel.  "  My  carriage  shall  be  at  your 
service  at  any  time." 

By  means  of  Mr.  Phanuel's  influence  Mr.  Wellmont  was 
invited  to  preach  on  the  following  Sabbath  at  the  New  Stone 
Church,  as  it  was  called.  All  the  noblest  energies  of  his 
soul  were  summoned  to  the  effort,  and  he  succeeded  in  bring- 
ing forth  a  strength  of  material  and  beauty  of  expression 
that  convinced  all  of  his  resources,  and  won  entire  approba- 
tion. He  was  immediately  engaged  to  preach  for  them  on  the 
two  succeeding  Sabbaths,  at  the  expiration  of  which  time,  he 
gave  such  universal  satisfaction,  that  he  received  an  unani- 
mous invitation  to  settle  over  them  as  their  pastor. 

The  call  was  accepted  with  eagerness,  for  Mr.  Wellmont 
now  saw  a  prospect  of  an  honorable  field  of  labor  in  a  city 
parish,  —  a  goal  to  which  he  had  been  aiming  from  his  en- 
trance into  the  ministry.  One  Sabbath  was  reserved  on 
which  to  preach  his  last  discourse  in  Waterbury,  pursuant  to 
requesting  a  dismission  of  that  church  and  society.  A  fare- 
well sermon,  properly  so  called,  he  did  not  deliver ;  that  kind 
of  climacteric  effort  did  not  harmonize  with  his  ideas  of  a  minis- 
ter's departure  from  a  place  which  he  had  respected  and  loved. 
He  did  not  wish  to  recapitulate  Avhat  he  had  done,  thus  to 
suggest  to  the  people  what  he  had  left  undone ;  he  had  no 
reproofs  to  administer  for  duty  neglected,  or  improperly  per- 
formed ;  nor  careful  intimations  of  what  should  be  their  future 
course  with  another  minister. 

His  sermon  was  listened  to  with  universal  grief  and  regret, 
for  Mr.  Wellmont  had  been  unusually  esteemed  in  Waterbury ; 
24 


278  EDITH     HALE. 

and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  numerous  foibles  of  his  wife, 
they  would  have  been  almost  inconsolable.  As  it  was,  his 
request  for  a  dismission  was  granted  without  a  remonstrance, 
although  several  took  occasion  to  tell  Mr.  Wellmont,  emphat- 
ically, that  no  one  had  ever  expressed  dissatisfaction  with 
him,  and  it  was  with  unfeigned  sorrow  they  contemplated  the 
idea  of  a  separation.  He  thanked  them,  and,  at  the  last, 
loved  his  people  far  better  than  he  had  at  first  anticipated  was 
possible. 

But  it  was  with  pleasant  anticipations  he  thought  of  his 
new  people,  so  much  superior,  in  all  respects,  he  believed,  to 
those  with  whom  he  had  been  associated  in  Waterbury. 

"  I  shall  be  no  more  troubled  with  many  annoyances  in- 
cident to  the  position  of  a  country  pastor,"  he  reflected. 
"  Everything  in  future  will  be  on  a  broader  plan." 

Upon  the  sale  of  his  residence,  Mr.  Wellmont  made  a  dis- 
covery very  important  to  him  —  that  it  was  not  his  own,  for 
which  to  receive  payment.  His  wife's  father  appeared  at  this 
juncture,  and  claimed  the  whole  value  received,  notwithstand- 
ing he  had  always  understood  it  was  a  gift  to  them.  No  legal 
conveyance  ran  in  his  name  ;  and  Mr.  Wellmont  could  make 
no  appeal,  for  had  he  not  received  the  use  of  the  place  from 
the  time  of  its  purchase  ?  He  had  used  his  salary  as  fast  as 
received,  and  sometimes  in  advance,  to  meet  the  expenses  of 
his  wife's  extravagant  housekeeping  and  other  demands ;  and 
he  had  been  obliged  to  use  the  gift  of  Mr.  Phanuel  in  the 
liquidation  of  a  long-standing  debt.  Consequently  he  found 
himself  at  this  time  in  a  very  straitened  condition.  The 


EDITH     HALE.  279 

new  parish  had  agreed  to  give  him  a  moderate  salary  for 
the  first  year ;  at  the  conclusion  of  which,  if  possible,  they 
were  to  make  an  addition  of  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars. 
They  could  not  afford  to  give  as  much  as  many  of  the  parishes 
in  the  city,  they  said,  because  the  expenses  of  their  begin- 
ning, the  past  year,  had  been  heavy  to  meet.  Nothing 
was  said,  however,  by  the  church  committee  about  the  pay- 
ment of  any  portion  of  his  salary  till  the  expiration  of  the 
first  six  months ;  and  Mr.  Wellmont,  secretly  condemning  the 
meagre  salaries  which  ministers  receive,  wrote  to  his  mother 
to  ask  her  to  loan  him  a  small  sum  of  her  own  slender 
income,  instead  of  sending  her  a  remittance  for  former  obliga- 
tions, as  he  had  fondly  hoped.  To  do  this  was  exceedingly 
painful  for  him ;  but  he  saw  no  alternative,  for  he  could  not 
think  of  taxing  Mr.  Phanuel's  generosity  further,  and  to  sell 
any  of  his  wife's  furniture  would  be  impossible.  At  the  con- 
clusion of  the  residence  in  Waterbury,  Mrs.  Wellmont  re- 
turned with  her  father  to  visit  her  former  home,  and  recruit 
her  health  and  spirits ;  and  Mr.  Wellmont  was  invited,  most 
opportunely,  by  Mr.  Phanuel,  to  reside  with  him  until  his 
wife  should  be  able  to  join  him  in  the  establishment  of  a  new 
house. 

The  days  which  Mr.  Wellmont  spent  at  this  period  in  Mr. 
Phanuel's  family  were  not  all  sunshine,  although  they  had 
begun  auspiciously.  Little  Bessie,  the  youngest  child,  had 
always  been  a  prime  favorite  with  him  ;  and  now,  on  every 
opportunity,  she  made  no  scruple  of  pouring  her  childish 
griefs  into  his  ear.  "  I  want  my  dear  mamma  ! "  was  her  con- 


EDITH     HALE. 

tinual  request  in  private ;  for  she  had  learned,  by  a  bitter  ex- 
perience, that  these  words  must  never  be  spoken  in  presence  of 
her  father.  The  two  other  children  at  home  were  older,  and 
had  naturally  imbibed  more  of  the  spirit  of  their  father ;  they 
were  engrossed  with  new  occupations  and  pleasures  of  town 
life ;  they  had  also  been  carefully  moulded,  by  relatives  un- 
friendly to  their  mother,  to  believe  all  that  their  father  said 
against  her.  Ah !  woe  to  relatives  who  would  poison  the  hearts 
of  children  with  hatred  for  their  own,  best-beloved  parent,  — 
the  mother  who  has  borne  them  upon  her  heart  through  years 
of  care,  and  tears,  and  pain ! 

One  evening,  when  Mr.  Phanuel  had  gone  out,  Mr.  Well- 
mont  was  surprised  in  the  library  by  the  sudden  appearance 
of  little  Bessie,  in  her  nightcap  and  gown,  exclaiming,  in  the 
most  joyful  manner  : 

"  Dear  mamma  has  come !  O  !  don't  you  think  !  dear 
mamma  has  come !  Do  come  and  see  her ! "  She  danced 
about,  shouting  and  clapping  her  little  hands,  with  every 
evidence  of  childish  joy ;  but,  suddenly  recollecting  herself, 
she  ran  off,  saying,  "  0,  I  am  so  glad !  " 

Mr.  Wellmont,  "tery  much  astonished  at  this  demonstration, 
went  out  of  the  room  into  the  adjoining  parlor,  where  he 
stood  undecided  what  course  to  pursue.  In  another  moment, 
Pierson,  Mr.  Phanuel's  oldest  child,  a  lad  of  a  dozen  years, 
entered,  and  said  : 

"  Mrs.  Phanuel  is  here,  sir !  Will  you  go  and  order  her 
to  leave  this  house  ?  My  father  is  out,  and  something  must 
be  done." 


SDITH     HALE.  281 

"  Is  it  possible  I  hear  aright  ?  "  exclaimed  Mr.  "Wellmont. 
"  Can  you  speak  thus  of  your  own  mother,  who  has  given  you 
birth,  nursed  you  upon  her  bosom,  and  devoted  herself  to  you 
with  the  most  self-sacrificing  affection?" 

At  this  reproof  the  boy's  face  flushed  with  anger. 

"  My  father  has  taught  me  how  to  speak,  sir,"  he  replied. 

At  this  juncture  a  most  piercing  shriek  fell  upon  their  ears, 
succeeded  by  loud  cries  of  supplication,  proceeding  from  one 
of  the  upper  apartments  of  the  house.  On  reaching  the 
nursery,  Mr.  Wellmont  beheld  Mrs.  Phanuel  kneeling  upon 
the  floor,  and  clasping  Bessie  frantically  to  her  heart,  while 
the  housekeeper  was  endeavoring  to  force  the  child  from  the 
mother's  arms.  A  sister  of  Bessie  was  standing  aside,  and 
ejaculating  passionately  to  Bessie  to  "come  away  from  that 
woman  in  a  moment." 

"  Anna !  "  spoke  Mrs.  Phanuel,  with  a  voice  of  suppressed 
but  mastering  emotion.  "  Is  this  all  a  dream?  Is  it  possible 
you  have  so  soon  learned  to  despise  your  mother  ?  You  will 
live  to  look  back  upon  this  moment  with  repentance.  My 
son,"  continued  the  mother,  on  seeing  Pierson  enter  the 
room,  "  come  to  me.  You  surely  have  not  forgotten  how  well 
you  loved  your  mother  !  " 

But  he  stood  proudly  aloof,  looking  down  upon  the  form 
of  his  mother  unmoved. 

"  0,  God !  "  cried  Mrs.  Phanuel,  "  they  have  all  learned  to 
scorn  me !  They  all  desert  me  now,  but  this  lamb  of  my 
bosom  !  She  shall  never  leave  me  !  " 

"  Dear  mamma,"  responded  little  Bessie,  while  she  kissed 
24* 


282  EDITH     HALE. 

her  mother,  fondly,  "I  want  to  go  home  with  you,  and  not  stay 
any  more  in  this  great,  noisy  place.  I  want  to  go  where  I 
can  sleep  with  you  every  night,  and  have  you  hold  my  hand 
on  your  bosom,  just  as  you  used  to.  Won't  it  be  nice  ?  " 

"  You  shall  live  with  me  always,  dear  child  !  "  replied  the 
mother,  embracing  her  again  and  again.  "0,  I  thank 
Heaven  that  one  has  not  been  taught  to  hate  me  ! "  she 
added,  fervently. 

A  heavy  voice  was  now  heard  in  the  hall  below,  and  a 
hurried  tread  upon  the  stairs.  Mr.  Phanuel  brushed  by  Mr. 
Wellmont,  who  stood  just  without  the  door,  and,  in  a  tone  of 
awful  anger,  said,  "  Woman  !  why  are  you  here  ?  Begone, 
this  moment,  or  I  shall  send  for  help  to  compel  you  to  go  !  " 

Thus  they  remained  for  a  moment,  each  looking  upon  the 
other,  while  all  the  children  began  to  cry  aloud.  Little  Bes- 
sie clasped  her  arms  about  her  mother's  neck,  saying,  "  You 
won't  go,  dear  mamma,  till  I  get  ready  to  go  with  you,  will 
you  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Phanuel !  —  my  husband  !  "  said  Mrs.  Phanuel,  at 
length,  with  great  effort,  "  tell  me  how  I  have  done  wrong,  if 
wrong  I  have  done.  In  all  the  time  I  have  lived  with  you  I 
have  tried  to  do  the  best  in  my  power.  Have  I  not  ever  been 
a  faithful,  humble  wife  to  you,  and  a  devoted  mother  to  our 
children  in  sickness  and  health  ?  " 

"  Dear,  dear  mother  ! "  now  cried  Anna,  relenting  at  the 
sight  of  her  mother's  woe,  and  throwing  herself  upon  her  knees 
before  her,  "  I  do  pity  you !  " 

"  Anna  !  "  spoke  her  father,  sternly,   "  leave  this  room  ! 


EDITH     HALE.  283 

And  you,  Pierson,  leave  !  Mrs.  Burt,"  turning  to  the  house- 
keeper, "  take  Bessie  away  with  you  !  " 

"  I  can't,  sir  !  "  replied  the  housekeeper ;  "  I  've  been  try- 
ing some  time,  and  she  won't  let  Bessie  go  !  " 

"  Won't !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Phanuel,  at  the  same  time  going 
to  his  wife,  and  with  one  effort  wrenching  the  child  from  her 
grasp. 

The  shrieks  of  little  Bessie  as  she  was  carried  out  filled  all 
the  house.  The  mother  sat  silent  and  motionless  as  a  statue, 
clasping  her  hands  strongly  over  her  heart,  as  if  to  shut  down 
its  throbs  of  agony.  Mr.  Wellmont  now  advanced  within  the 
room,  faintly  hoping  his  presence  would  be  of  some  avail  in 
quelling  this  fearful  tempest  of  passion.  Perceiving  him  for 
the  first  time,  Mrs.  Phanuel  stretched  forth  her  hands  implor- 
ingly. Her  lips  moved,  but  no  word  was  heard. 

"  I  trust,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  looking  with  constraint 
towards  Mr.  Phanuel,  and  then  to  his  wife,  "  that  peace  may 
yet  be  reestablished  between  you.  Consider,  for  a  moment, 
the  fearful  responsibility  you  are  taking  upon  yourself. 
'  What  God  has  joined  together  let  not  man  put  asunder '  has 
been  pronounced  over  you  in  the  presence  of  God  and  of  wit- 
nesses. You  have  lived  together  for  years,  and  children  have 
been  born  unto  you  —  " 

"  I  make  no  pretensions  to  religion,"  interrupted  Mr. 
Phanuel ;  "  neither  do  I  expect  advice,  unless  I  ask  it." 

"  I  judge  no  man,"  resumed  Mr.  Wellmont;  "but  I  here 
lift  my  voice  against  what  appears  to  be  this  great  sin  before 
God.  I  wash  my  hands  of  any  countenance  of  it  henceforth 


284  EDITH     HALE. 

and  forever.  I  must  do  it."  There  were  burning  tears  upon 
his  pale  cheeks,  and  his  whole  frame  trembled  with  emotion. 

"  Have  I  not  always  been  a  firm  friend  to  you  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Phanuel. 

"  You  have,"  replied  Mr.  "Wellmont ;  "  but  that  must  not 
mislead  me  into  unjust  judgment  against  the  innocent  and 
oppressed." 

"  The  innocent  and  oppressed !  "  retorted  Mr.  Phanuel, 
scornfully.  But  he  had  not  finished  speaking  when  he  per- 
ceived Mr.  Wellmont  draw  back  in  apparent  horror,  and  with 
a  gesture  direct  his  attention  towards  his  wife. 

A  fearful  change  was  marked  upon  the  countenance  of  Mrs. 
Phanuel.  Within  her  eye  burned  an  unnatural  fire,  which 
showed  at  once  that  the  calm,  settled  light  of  reason  had 
gone  out  from  her  brain.  A  rigidity  held  her  muscles,  as  if 
theif  last  tension  had  been  reached ;  and  the  beating  of  her 
heart  was  so  violent  that  every  pulsation  shook  her  whole 
frame. 

Nothing  is  more  awe-inspiring,  more  thoroughly  saddening, 
than  the  eye  in  which  madness  is  seen.  It  is  like  looking 
upon  a  lake  of  burning  naphtha  in  comparison  with  a  well  of 
clear,  cold,  and  still  water.  All  law  which  has  had  power, 
all  government  save  the  impulse  of  a  direct  will,  is  put  away  ; 
and  there  can  be  no  common  ground  of  action  upon  which  the 
least  certainty  may  be  reposed.  The  eye  of  the  crazed  wife 
burned  upon  Mr.  Phanuel  now,  without  a  transfer  of  its 
glance  for  an  instant.  For  the  first  time  did  the  man  of  iron 
heart  quail  before  woman  ! 


EDITH     HALE. 

How  could  lie  look  upon  that  eye  and  not  feel  his  heart  fail 
within  him  ?  —  for  therein  he  read  the  great  wrongs  of  the 
past  with  the  characters  all  reversed,  and  written,  as  it  were, 
with  a  pen  of  fire  upon  stone.  He  could  not  look  long ;  and 
he  stood  there  motionless,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  floor, 
as  was  his  habit  when  lost  in  calculation.  At  length  he  spoke, 
as  if  falling  upon  a  favorable  expedient : 

"  Come,  Eliza,  come  from  this  room,  and  Mrs.  Burt  shall 
show  you  where  you  can  get  some  rest  till  morning."  He 
knew  that  the  voice  of  command  was  no  longer  of  avail. 

She  did  not  move,  but  remained  like  a  statue  in  her  kneel- 
ing position,  with  her  hands  still  clasped  over  her  heart. 

"  If  you  will  do  this,  you  need  not  leave  here,"  he  con- 
tinued, calculating  the  chances  of  his  success.  She  gave  no 
heed. 

"  Or  you  may  leave  in  the  morning,  and  Bessie  shall  go 
with  you.  Bessie  shall  go  with  you"  he  repeated,  to  gain 
her  attention.  He  had  struck  the  right  chord  now.  The 
name  of  her  darling  child  was  more  potent  over  the  broken 
heart  and  brain  than  aught  else.  Drooping  her  eyelashes, 
she  arose  listlessly,  and  suffered  herself  to  be  conducted 
whither  Mr.  Phanuel  directed. 

A  poorly  furnished  room  in  the  attic  story,  with  no  window 
but  a  sky-light,  was  assigned  for  her  reception ;  the  door  of 
which  Mr.  Phanuel  locked  without,  placing  the  key  in  his  own 
charge.  He  descended  to  the  parlor,  where  clear  burning 
waxen  candles  and  a  bright  coal  fire  shed  over  the  splendid 
furniture  a  luxurious  glow.  Mr.  TVellmont  stood  at  one  of 


286  EDITH     HALE. 

the  windows,  behind  the  rich  draperies,  gazing  abstractedly 
without  upon  the  darkness  thick  and  black. 

"  It  is  a  dreary  night,"  observed  Mr.  Phanuel,  as  he  drew 
up  a  large  chair  for  himself  before  the  fire. 

Mr.  Wellmont  thought  of  the  attic  chamber  overhead,  and 
was  too  much  overcome  to  reply.  Mr.  Phanuel  transferred 
his  attention  to  the  evening  paper.  It  proved,  in  fact,  a 
dreary  night,  abroad  and  within.  The  cold  of  winter  had 
commenced,  and  a  storm  was  gathering  in  the  sky.  There  was 
no  moon,  nor  were  stars  visible,  and  the  winds  were  wild  and 
mournful.  Sleep  was  a  stranger  to  the  inmates  of  the  house 
through  the  long  hours ;  for  at  intervals,  until  morning,  were 
heard  from  the  lonely  attic  chamber  the  most  piercing  shrieks 
of  despair,  such  as  one  seldom  hears  in  a  life.  In  the  morn- 
ing it  rained ;  but  Mr.  Phanuel  ordered  a  close  carriage  and 
swift  horses  to  his  door,  and  went  for  his  wife,  accompanied 
by  Mr.  Wellmont. 

On  opening  the  door  they  found  the  room  was  empty.  It 
was  as  silent  and  undisturbed,  save  a  singular  arrangement  of 
chairs  in  the  centre,  as  though  no  one  had  been  within  it  for  a 
week.  No  trace  of  Mrs.  Phanuel  was  found. 

A  second  thought,  however,  convinced  Mr.  Phanuel  that 
escape  was  impossible  save  by  the  sky-light,  which  the  ar- 
rangement of  the  chairs  suggested.  By  introducing  a  portable 
staircase  from  an  adjoining  closet,  he  was  enabled  to  lift  the 
window  and  look  without. 

"  Great  heavens  !  "  he  said,  under  his  breath,  "  there  she  is 


EDITII     IIALE.  287 

on  the  extremity  of  the  roof!  "  And  he  looked  down  upon 
Mr.  "Wellmont,  aghast. 

Apparently  regardless  of  danger,  she  sat  with  her  head 
uncovered,  her  hair  wetted  through  by  the  rain,  and  stream- 
ing in  the  air  unconfined,  and  with  a  sheet  wound  carelessly 
about  her  shoulders.  She  was  looking  away  through  the 
storm,  and  singing  a  fragment  of  "  Home,  sweet  home,"  in 
a  voice  which  would  have  softened  a  heart  of  adamant  to 
tears. 

"  Eliza ! "  said  Mr.  Phanuel,  "  come  here,  quickly,  for 
Heaven's  sake  !  " 

"  I  shall  never  come  !  "  she  answered,  looking  steadfastly 
away,  as  if  waiting.  "  I  am  going  to  fly  off  to  the  clouds  as 
soon  as  I  have  made  an  end  of  singing !  " 

She  then  sang  softly,  and  with  a  clear  sweetness : 

"  A  charm  from  the  skies  seems  to  hallow  us  there, 
Which,  seek  through  the  world,  is  not  met  with  elsewhere." 

"  What  can  be  done  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Phanuel  of  Mr.  Well- 
mont, impatiently,  contemplating  the  thwarting  of  his  scheme. 
"  To  advance  would  be  perilous.  Perhaps  we  had  better 
leave  her  to  descend  at  her  own  will." 

"  I  have  got  my  mantle  all  ready,"  she  continued,  to  ap- 
pearance entirely  absorbed  in  herself.  Folding  the  sheet  more 
closely  about  her,  she  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet,  and  ran 
lightly  along  the  steep  roof  to  the  opposite  edge.  Mr.  Well- 
mont closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  fearful  scene.  He 


288  EDITH     UALE. 

expected  momentarily  to  miss  her  from  that  dangerous 
spot. 

"  See  !  the  chariot  of  fire  is  coming  !  "  she  now  exclaimed, 
pointing  afar.  "  Is  Bessie  ready  ?  Dear  lamb  !  she  will  go 
home  with  me,  at  last !  " 

"  We  cannot  let  Bessie  go  out  there  in  the  rain,"  now  spoke 
Mr.  "Wellmont,  struck  with  a  new  hope ;  "  she  would  take 
cold,  and  be  ill." 

"  "Would  she  ? "  said  Mrs.  Phanuel,  for  the  first  time 
attentive  to  them. 

"  Certainly,"  added  Mr.  Phanuel.  "  If  you  will  come 
down  into  the  house,  you  shall  ride  away  from  the  street  with 
Bessie." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  go  down,"  she  said,  submissively. 

"  Xow,  Mr.  Wellmont,"  said  Mr.  Phanuel,  aloud,  when  he 
had  entered  the  attic,  "just  assist  Mrs.  Phanuel  away."  He 
motioned  him  to  take  her  arm  on  one  side,  while  he  secured 
her  on  the  other. 

"  Where  is  my  darling  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Phanuel,  when 
they  had  descended  to  the  front  hall,  and  she  saw  the  coach- 
man waiting. 

Mr.  Phanuel  requested  Mr.  Wellmont  to  go  for  Bessie,  and 
see  that  she  was  arrayed  properly  for  a  ride.  Mr.  Wellmont 
complied. 

"  0, 1  shall  have  her  once  more  all  to  myself!  "  exclaimed 
the  poor  mother,  while  a  ghastly  smile  for  a  moment  lighted 
up  her  haggard  features.  "  She  shall  rest  on  this  bosom,  she 
shall  —  "  Her  words  were  forcibly  interrupted. 


EDITH     II  ALE.  289 

When  Mr.  Wellmont  returned  with  Bessie,  dressed  in  her 
riding  hat  and  cloak,  the  carriage  had  gone  from  the  door  on 
its  way  to  the  lunatic  asylum. 

"  Only  a  stratagem,  after  all,"  thought  Mr.  Wellmont,  with 
bitterness ;  "  he  might  at  least  have  permitted  her  to  have 
parted  with  Bessie." 

But  the  disappointment  to  little  Bessie,  who  had  been  told 
she  was  to  go  with  her  mother,  was  intense.  Her  pleas  to 
see  her  "dear  mamma"  were  heart-rending.  She  soon 
became  so  absorbed  with  grief,  that  nothing  could  divide  her 
attention  or  alleviate  her  distress. 

At  last,  her  cries  became  so  violent,  a  flow  of  blood  came 
from  her  nose  and  mouth,  and,  utterly  exhausted,  she  sank 
down  in  her  nurse's  arms  and  fell  asleep. 

Mr.  Phanuel,  on  his  return,  found  Bessie  very  ill  of  a  fever, 
and  delirious.  The  most  skilful  physicians  were  summoned, 
and  entreated  by  the  father  to  spare  the  life  of  his  child ;  for, 
with  all  his  wonted  sternness,  his  children  were  very  dear  to 
him,  and  the  pet  Bessie  was  especially  beloved.  The  case  was 
pronounced  a  critical  one,  and  from  the  first  but  little  hope 
was  given  of  effecting  a  recovery.  For  days  she  lay  contend- 
ing with  disease,  again  and  again  beseeching  her  father,  in  her 
childish  plaint,  to  let  her  go  with  her  "  dear  mamma." 

"  My  hot  head  would  feel  so  good  up  close  to  her  neck,  and 
she  would  kiss  me  and  make  me  well !  "  she  would  cry.  Some- 
times she  imagined  herself  in  her  old  home,  and  talked  lovingly 
of  the  birds,  the  flowers,  and  of  her  own  dear  little  kittens  in 
their  basket  under  the  primroses.  Then  she  would  think  her 
25 


290  EDITH     HALE. 

mother  was  coming  to  meet  her,  extending  her  little  hands  for 
an  embrace.  At  such  times  her  father  was  forced  to  leave 
the  room,  and  it  was  now  a  question  of  doubt,  if  the  past 
were  again  to  come  up,  whether  he  would  repeat  the  part  he 
had  heartlessly  acted. 

The  presence  of  Mr.  Wellmont  seemed  the  only  consolation 
left  to  the  little  sufferer,  and  whatever  he  told  her  she  obeyed 
without  a  murmur. 

The  dreaded  crisis,  which  was  to  decide  the  result  of  her 
illness,  approached. 

"  She  cannot,  must  not  die  !  "  said  Mr.  Phanuel,  with  the 
same  air  of  authority  with  which  he  gave  all  his  orders.  "  I 
have  already  planned  a  brilliant  life  for  her ;  she  is  a  beauti- 
ful child,  and  my  youngest  born." 

"  She  is  the  Lord's,  nevertheless,"  rejoined  Mr.  "Wellmont ; 
"  the  Giver  hath  a  right  to  take  her  away,  though  it  seems 
very  grievous  in  our  eyes." 

"  Pray  for  her  life,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Phanuel,  almost  sternly ; 
"  if  it  be  true  that  the  prayer  of  the  righteous  availeth  much, 
spare  no  supplication  in  her  behalf." 

Mr.  Phanuel  could  not  now  leave  the  room  for  a  moment. 
All  day  he  stood  by  the  bed  of  his  child,  with  fearful  gloom, 
anticipating  the  hour  which  was  to  bring  peace  or  agony. 

She  had  lain  for  the  last  hours  in  insensibility,  but  with 
the  coming  of  evening  she  revived,  and  seemed  partially  sen- 
sible of  the  presence  of  those  about  her. 

With  a  sweet  smile,  looking  upon  her  father,  she  said, 

"  Dear  mamma  will  come  again  and  kiss  me,  won't  she  ?  " 


EDITH     HALE.  291 

"  She  is  better !     She  will  live  !  "  said  Mr.  Phanuel. 

The  physician,  who  was  examining  her  attentively,  shook  his 
head;  for  he  saw  the  unmistakable  death-shadow  settling 
over  the  little  face. 

"  Impossible  !  "  exclaimed  her  father,  twining  unconsciously 
her  fair  hair  over  his  fingers;  "  she  is  certainly  more  like  her- 
self, is  she  not,  Mr.  Wellmont  ?  " 

"  The  expression  of  her  eye  is  peculiar,"  he  replied.  Bend- 
ing lower  over  her,  he  asked, 

"  Can  you  see  me  now,  dear  Bessie?  " 

"  I  can't !  it  is  so  dark  here  all  at  once  !  "  she  answered, 
raising  her  tiny  hands  to  his  face,  and  suffering  them  to  fall 
about  his  neck. 

"  It  is  night,  is  n't  it  ?     Shall  I  say,  '  Now  I  lay  me  '  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  child,  if  you  like.  God  hears  you,"  said  Mr. 
Wellmont,  now  taking  both  her  hands  in  his  own. 

She  began  in  her  own  natural  voice  of  childish  sweetness, 
but,  soon  becoming  exhausted,  her  words  sunk  to  a  whisper, 
and  she  seemed  to  sleep.  A  few  minutes  later,  a  slight  strug- 
gle passed  over  her  face,  and,  waking  with  the  cry,  "  Dear 
mamma !  do  come,  take  little  Bessie  !  "  she  expired. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

MR.    LOOMEY. 

THE  parish  of  Waterbury  did  not  hasten  in  the  selection  of 
a  pastor  to  fill  the  vacancy  made  by  the  departure  of  Mr. 
Wellmont.  One  and  another  candidate  presented  himself 
and  departed,  without  discovering  a  sign  to  detain  him.  But 
at  length  there  came  one  who  straightway  impressed  the  people 
that  he  was  not  an  ordinary  man,  or  one  with  whom  any  could 
deal  carelessly.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Loomey  seemed  the  impersona- 
tion of  dignity  and  solemnity  ;  like  some  characters  in  fiction, 
who,  under  the  author's  pen,  become  abstract  qualities,  rather 
than  pictures  of  human  beings  with  passions  for  both  good 
and  evil. 

Dean  Swift,  as  witty  as  he  was  ecclesiastical,  says,  "  So- 
lemnity is  the  cover  for  a  sot."  A  greater  than  Dean  Swift 
calls  those  who  disfigure  their  faces  with  this  solemn  sadness 
hypocrites.  Some,  however,  are  constitutionally  solemn,  and 
would  seem  utterly  wanting  in  sympathy  with  the  lively  side 
of  life.  Such  persons  obtain  a  reputation  for  wisdom  and 
respectability,  and  are  generally  much  feared  and  respected. 
Among  this  latter  class  was  numbered  the  Rev.  Mr.  Loomey, 


EDITH     HALE.  293 

upon  his  early  presentation  to  Waterbury.  He  was  not  a 
young  man,  neither  could  he  be  properly  called  old,  although 
he  was  so  dignified  that  no  one  thought  of  asking  him  his  age. 
His  hair  was  yet  a  fresh  brown,  with  occasional  hues  of  gold ; 
but  it  was  quite  gone  about  the  crown  of  his  head,  which  was 
red  and  shining.  His  hair  was  cut  close,  and  arranged  so 
that  his  round  head  looked  even  rounder  than  it  might  other- 
wise have  looked ;  inclining  to  a  curl,  it  would  have  given  an 
impression  of  good-humor,  had  it  not  been  for  his  unusually 
serious  face.  His  countenance  was  decidedly  florid,  looking 
like  a  cloud  behind  which  the  sun  is  struggling  to  come  out. 
His  eyes  passed  for  black,  but  they  were  a  greenish  gray, 
shaded  with  very  dark  lashes.  But  their  full  light  was  almost 
always  concealed  by  spectacles,  assisted  by  habitually  falling 
eyelids.  His  mouth  was  the  very  acme  of  solemnity ;  when 
he  spoke  it  became  a  yawning  grave  of  all  earthliness,  of  all 
life's  dearest  hopes. 

On  ascending  the  pulpit  for  the  first  time,  he  came  near 
falling  upon  his  face,  by  reason  of  a  false  step.  This  was 
construed  into  a  bad  omen  by  certain  observers. 

The  first  sermon  of  Mr.  Loomey  was  upon  sin,  its  heinous- 
ness,  and  consequent  judgment.  The  theory  of  Pope,  that 
there  is  something  venerable  and  oracular  in  unadorned  gravity 
and  brevity  of  expression,  seemed  to  have  entered  largely  into 
the  formation  of  his  style.  But  the  sermon  contained  good 
doctrine  and  practical  truth.  Miss  Leah  found  occasion  to 
take  notes  more  than  ordinarily,  and  Mrs.  Witherell  wrote 
every  moment  which  was  not  devoted  to  rapt  admiration  of 
25* 


294  EDITH     HALE. 

the  speaker.  The  young  people,  for  the  most  part,  were  held 
in  perfect  awe  at  the  spectacle  of  such  an  amount  of  solemnity. 
His  prayers  were  very  long;  but,  as  it  was  the  custom  of  the 
people  to  remain  sitting  during  that  exercise,  no  unpleasant 
consequences  ensued.  A  great  contrast  was  Mr.  Loomey  to 
Mr.  Wellmont,  and  not  an  unfavorable  one  to  many  of  the 
people,  especially  the  elderly  portion,  and  those  who  had 
suffered  indignities  from  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

"  Just  such  a  man  as  we  need  to  influence  our  young  peo- 
ple," remarked  Deacon  Dennis  to  Deacon  Goodwin. 

"  Yes,  no  one  can  object  to  such  a  good  man  as  Mr.  Loo- 
mey evidently  is,"  was  the  reply. 

Consequently,  Mr.  Loomey  was  engaged  to  preach  for 
several  Sabbaths,  and  each  succeeding  Sabbath  he  impressed 
more  and  more  with  the  weight  of  his  character  for  dignity 
and  solemnity. 

Quite  contrary  to  custom,  Father  Shaw  refused  to  express 
his  opinion  of  this  minister ;  when  interrogated,  he  said  he 
would  wait  and  see  more,  before  he  told  what  he  thought. 
When  the  time  came  to  decide  in  regard  to  inviting  Mr. 
Loomey  to  the  pastorate  of  Waterbury,  it  was  generally  agreed 
that  he  was  the  man  for  them ;  he  had  enjoyed  experience  in 
his  vocation,  and  he  seemed  a  man  in  all  respects  superior  to 
the  other  candidates  whom  they  had  heard.  What  opposition 
really  existed  was  withheld,  on  the  principle  that  it  was  dan- 
gerous to  oppose  a  man  of  such  deep  solemnity. 

Mr.  Loomey  did  not  accept  this  call  without  considerable 
demur.  He  said  he  had  several  invitations  to  preach  in  other 


EDITH     HALE.  295 

places,  where  there  were  large?  and  more  flourishing  congre- 
gations. But  finally  he  concluded  to  remain,  as  his  health 
was  not  adequate  to  a  more  laborious  field,  provided  the  com- 
mittee of  business  would  add  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  to 
the  salary.  There  was  some  opposition  to  this ;  but,  as  the 
wealthier  portion  made  no  objections,  the  demand  was  met. 
Mr.  Loomey  had  no  wife.  He  informed  those  who  mentioned 
the  subject  that  he  was  never  married,  and  should  not  marry. 
He  should  devote  all  his  talents,  time,  and  interest,  to  the 
people  of  his  care.  By  many  this  was  set  down  to  his  great 
advantage.  They  were  in  no  danger  of  a  pastor's  wife,  who 
might  prove  a  drawback ;  and  the  young  people  generally 
thought  a  minister  was  much  more  agreeable  if  he  were  with- 
out a  wife.  After  looking  about  the  village  thoroughly,  Mr. 
Loomey  decided  to  make  his  home  with  Mrs.  Witherell,  for 
the  reason  of  the  absence  of  children  in  the  family.  Mrs. 
Withercll,  being  very  active  in  the  affairs  of  the  church  and 
society  in  general,  and  also  being  on  intimate  terms  with 
Zephaniah  "Wilkin-,  Mr.  Loomey  was  not  at  a  loss  for  any 
local  knowledge,  or  other  assistance,  he  required. 

The  watch-word  of  Mr.  Loomey  soon  came  out ;  it  was  a 
good  word,  embracing  many  good  principles — Reform.  It 
is  also,  like  many  other  words,  ambiguous,  and  capable  of 
being  labelled  upon  almost  any  parcel  of  sentiments  and 
actions.  First  he  began  with  minutiae.  Upon  the  Sabbath 
succeeding  his  engagement  to  remain  with  them,  he  publicly 
requested  the  congregation  to  arise  and  remain  standing  dur- 
ing every  prayer  in  the  Lord's  house. 


296  EDITH     HALE. 

"  This  sitting  position,"  said  he,  "  I  consider  very  disre- 
spectful to  the  Being  whom  we  address,  and  to  him  who 
addresses  the  throne  of  grace  in  your  behalf.  You  will, 
therefore,  in  future,  arise  and  stand  during  the  holy  exercise 
of  prayer.  You  have  hitherto,"  he  continued,  "  risen  and 
turned  your  bodies  to  see  those  who  take  part  in  the  singing 
of  the  sanctuary,  —  a  practice  which  I  consider  very  disor- 
derly and  worldly.  I  wish  it  hereafter  to  be  discontinued." 

"  Well,"  said  Father  Shaw  to  Dr.  Humphrey,  at  the  close 
of  that  morning's  exercise,  "  ef  he  allers  prays  as  long  as 
that  are  prayer  was  this  mornin',  I  guess  «ome  of  the  heels 
will  ache  afore  night  like  all  natur.  How  pale  and  sunken- 
like  the  women  looked  when  he  gut  over  the  world  as  far  as 
Incly;  and  when  he  gut  on  ter  Africa,  I  thought  for  sartin 
some  on  'em  would  have  gin  out  and  dropped  down." 

"  It  is  unfavorable  to  health  to  remain  standing  so  long  in 
one  position,"  replied  the  doctor ;  "  but  I  think  we  had  better 
conform  to  his  wishes,  and  not  fall  out  by  the  way.  It  is  but 
a  small  matter." 

"  I  never  cared  northin'  about  gittin'  up  and  seein'  the 
singers  myself,"  Father  Shaw  went  on,  "but  I  kinder  guess 
some  of  our  folks  will  miss  seein'  and  bein'  seen.  It's  all 
the  pay  our  singers  git ;  and,  ef  they  can't  be  looked  at,  it 's 
kinder  hard." 

As  might  have  been  predicated  of  such  a  movement,  a  great 
many  of  the  choir  were  offended ;  for  it  is  always  observable 
that  those  persons  who  have  that  most  excellent  gift  of  music 
are  especially  sensitive.  This  feeling  was  by  no  means  allayed 


EDITH     HALE.  297 

on  the  following  Sabbath.  In  the  course  of  the  long  morning 
prayer,  the  congregation  were  aroused  from  their  devotions, 
bj  the  sudden  cessation  of  words  from  Mr.  Loomey.  On 
looking  up,  they  saw  that  his  eyes  were  unclosed,  and  fastened 
with  a  look  of  solemn  reproof  in  the  direction  of  the  choir. 
He  stood  thus  for  an  awful  interval  of  a  moment,  when  he 
resumed  his  prayer.  After  the  conclusion,  he  sat  down  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  handkerchief,  till  the  awe  of  the  people 
began  to  subside  into  curiosity ;  then  he  arose  slowly,  and 
said  his  soul  had  been  inexpressibly  shocked  by  hearing,  from 
some  member  of  the  choir,  a  whisper  during  prayer ;  and, 
when  he  had  looked  in  that  direction,  a  young  woman  had  so 
far  forgotten  the  respect  due  to  the  place  and  person  as  to 
smile !  He  hoped  he  should  see  nothing  further  of  such 
indecorum  ;  for  it  so  distracted  his  thoughts  from  the  sacred 
message  he  had  to  deliver,  it  was  well  nigh  impossible  for  him 
to  proceed. 

It  would  have  been  better  for  Mr.  Loomey  if  there  had  been 
in  his  congregation  some  such  person  as  Sir  Roger  de  Cover- 
ley,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  such  things  in  church  as 
"  to  call  out  to  one  John  Matthews,  when  he  was  kicking  his 
heels  for  a  diversion,  not  to  disturb  the  congregation." 

Mr.  Loomey  summoned  strength,  however,  to  announce  his 
subject,  which  he  said  particularly  concerned  the  female  por- 
tion of  his  congregation.  It  was  upon  their  apparel.  He 
had  noticed  much  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit  umong  the 
people,  and  he  felt  it  his  duty  to  preach  against  it.  His  text 
was  this : 


298  EDITH     IIALE. 

"  In  that  day  "the  Lord  wilt  take  away  the  bravery  of  their  tinkling 
ornaments  about  their  feet,  and  their  cauls,  and  their  round  tires  like 
the  moon  ;  the  chains,  and  the  bracelets,  and  the  mufflers  ;  the  bon- 
nets and  head-bands,  and  the  tablets,  and  the  earrings,  the  rings  and 
nose-jewels  ;  the  changeable  suits  of  apparel,  and  the  mantles,  and 
the  wimples,  and  the  crispiug-pins  ;  the  glasses  and  the  fine  linen, 
and  the  hoods  and  the  vails." 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  reading  of  this  text,  there  was  a 
slight  movement  throughout  the  congregation.  But  the  min- 
ister looked  around  with  so  much  solemnity,  the  ladies,  at 
least,  subsided  into  gravity  much  sooner  than  seemed  possible 
under  the  circumstances.  As  the  gentlemen  had  felt  that 
their  purses  and  personal  comfort  were  more  or  less  sacrificed 
to  the  demands  for  feminine  dress,  they  were  curious,  and 
predisposed  to  listen  with  attention  to  what  might  be  said. 

The  sermon  was  divided  under  several  heads.  These  also 
embraced  subdivisions.  Under  the  head  of  mourning  attire, 
he  spoke  largely. 

"  It  is  often,"  he  said,  "  a  mockery,  these  long  black 
veils,  and  other  garments  of  mourning,  crape,  and  serge.  The 
heart,  beneath  so  much  outward  appearance  of  lamentation, 
is  often  silently  content,  or  rejoicing  at  a  death  which  leaves 
the  person  a  recipient  of  new  benefits  in  greater  or  less  pro- 
portion. Away  with  pretences ! "  he  cried,  in  exaltation ; 
"  away  with  all  pretences !  And  the  angels  and  glorified 
saints  respond  Amen  and  Amen !  " 

In  this  strain  he  continued  till  that  part  of  his  subject  was 
exhausted ;  every  word  of  which  inflicted  a  wound  upon  some 


EDITH     HALE.  299 

heart  among  his  hearers.  There  were  those  present  who 
mourned  for  the  loss  of  friends  dearer  to  them  than  all  else 
of  earth,  who  felt  that  the  showy  fabric  of  the  mode  would 
ill  accord  with  the  sentiments  of  their  hearts.  They  were, 
too,  perfectly  willing  that  others,  who  felt  differently,  should 
act  in  accordance  with  their  feelings. 

Lastly,  he  came  to  the  expenditure  for  dress  in  connection 
with  our  responsibility  to  G  od  for  the  time,  talents,  and  means, 
given  us. 

"  Instead  of  lavishing  so  much  upon  the  arraying  of  your 
poor,  mortal  bodies,  destined  to  decay  and  become  food  for 
worms,"  he  said,  "  the  expense  should  be  saved  to  contribute 
to  the  support  of  the  Gospel,  in  your  own  parish,  in  your  own 
country,  and  in  efforts  to  convert  and  enlighten  the  heathen. 
For  this,  '  in  that  day,'  you  will  be  called  to  the  most  solemn 
account." 

These  words  undoubtedly  exerted  a  good  influence,  as  must 
every  good  thing  said,  soon  or  late ;  for,  that  they  were  good, 
no  one  felt  disposed  to  dispute.  But  their  effect  would  have 
gone  much  further  and  deeper,  had  not  the  eyes  of  his  hearers 
rested  upon  the  clothing  of  the  reformer's  own  person.  The 
fabric  of  which  his  coat  was  composed  was  the  finest  and 
richest  broadcloth  ;  his  vest  was  of  the  costliest  pattern ;  and 
he  wore  a  heavy  gold  watch,  of  a  material  and  workmanship 
not  often  excelled  among  the  convenient  appliances  of  a  cler- 
gyman. To  all  this,  however,  no  serious  objection  could  be 
offered ;  for  it  was  a  principle  with  Mr.  Loomey,  as  with 
many  purchasers,  that  the  best  articles  are  the  cheapest  in 


300  EDITH     HALE. 

the  end ;  a  rule  which  has  as  many  exceptions  as  there  are 
applications,  but  a  very  convenient  one  as  a  subterfuge  for 
extravagance. 

About  such  a  sermon  it  was  not  surprising  that  many  com- 
ments were  exchanged  among  the  people.  The  gentlemen 
generally  praised  it,  especially  in  hearing  of  their  lady 
friends.  Dr.  Humphrey  said  that  he  preferred  that  the  ladies 
should  be  allowed  their  own  way  in  what  concerned  them  so 
exclusively  as  their  dress.  Such  encroachments  upon  their 
privileges  did  not  accord  with  his  chivalrous  temperament. 

"  It  will  most  likely  be  more  profitable  for  you  to  have 
the  ladies  fashionably  expose  themselves  to  disease,"  retorted 
Zephaniah  Wilkins,  who  had  overheard  his  remark. 

In  reply,  the  doctor  cast  upon  him  one  of  his  keen,  peculiar 
smiles,  and  said  only,  "You  are  a  pleasant  young  man  !  " 

This  occurred  within  the  post-office ;  and,  as  several  were 
standing  by,  a  loud  laugh  ensued.  Zephaniah,  feeling  the 
current  set  against  him,  as  it  invariably  did,  walked  away  as 
fast  as  possible. 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  called  Father  Shaw  after  him. 
"To  see  you  run  off  so,  makes  a  body  think  of  one  of  them 
are  foxes  that  had  a  firebrand  tied  on  ter  his  tail  by  Samson 
to  set  fire  into  his  enemies'  corn." 

Not  long  after  the  delivery  of  this  sermon,  Mrs.  Witherell 
was  called  to  the  funeral  of  her  father ;  and,  as  she  had  been 
particularly  influenced  by  the  remarks  of  Mr.  Loomey  upon 
mourning,  she  was  determined  to  be  foremost  in  setting  a  good 
example.  It  was  in  the  opening  of  spring,  when  the  ladies 


EDITH     HALE.  301 

lay  aside  their  heavy  hats,  and  other  garments,  for  those  of  a 
lighter  and  plainer  material.  Mrs.  Witherell  appeared  at  the 
funeral  under  a  hat  blooming  with  green  and  cherry  ribbon. 
A  brilliant  green  shawl  graced  her  shoulders,  topped  off  with 
a  collar  embroidered  in  scarlet  silk.  In  her  bag  and  shoes 
were  flame  colored  strings.  She  compelled  her  husband  to 
replace  his  whole  suit  of  "  meeting  black  "  for  one  of  colors 
and  bright  buttons.  This  was  very  unpleasant  for  poor  Simon; 
but  he  had  no  alternative.  Always  shrinking  from  observa- 
tion, in  absorbing  consciousness  of  his  own  inferiority,  on  the 
Sabbath  succeeding  the  funeral  he  walked  to  church  looking 
more  sheepish  than  ever.  Mrs.  Witherell  had  purposely  come 
late ;  and  it  was  observed  by  some  lads  in  the  vestibule,  as 
Simon  was  smoothing  down  his  refractory  locks,  preparatory 
to  entering  the  church  after  the  first  prayer,  that  his  wife 
pulled  from  his  coat-pocket  a  yellow  silk  handkerchief,  about 
one  half  in  sight,  so  that,  as  he  went  up  the  aisle,  no  mistake 
might  be  made  about  his  mourning. 

Among  other  sermons,  intended  for  reform,  delivered  by 
Mr.  Loomey,  was  one  upon  fictitious  literature.  Never  before 
were  such  stinging  reproofs  to  novel  readers  heard  by  the 
people  of  Waterbury.  To  novels  were  attributed  a  great  pro- 
portion of  the  wickedness  and  misery  of  the  age.  He  seemed 
doing  valiant  battle  with  the  ghost  of  a  yellow  covered  novel, 
which,  after  rending  to  fragments,  he  hurled  at  the  head  of 
the  prince  of  evil. 

Many  people  liked  this  sermon.  Persons  who  were 
more  than  suspected  of  flagrant  violation  of  moral  duties  liked 
26 


302  EDITH     HALE. 

it  exceedingly.  And  some  persons  of  excellent  life,  who 
conscientiously  believed  the  words  of  the  minister  were  just 
what  were  needed,  liked  it.  Among  these  was  Miss  Leah, 
who  nodded  several  times  approvingly,  and  looked  about  in 
triumph  upon  the  young  people,  whom  she  had  in  vain  warned 
of  the  consequence  of  light  reading.  Mrs.  Witherell  was  in 
ecstasies.  She  would  never  read  a  novel ;  as  soon  should  a 
serpent  come  within  her  house  as  such  a  book.  Zephaniah 
"Wilkins  proceeded  at  once  to  have  the  sermon  printed. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

NEW   AND   OLD   ACQUAINTANCE. 

AFTER  their  establishment  in  their  new  home,  Edith  and 
Mary  had  many  plans  to  arrange  for  the  future  which  opened 
before  them.  One  morning,  when  they  had  met  in  the  bou- 
doir,—  a  small,  luxurious  room,  especially  refitted  by  Mr. 
Raymond  for  their  reception,  —  Edith  seemed  more  thought- 
ful than  usual.  Silently  she  looked  from  the  window  upon 
the  distant  harbor  shining  in  the  sun  like  golden  glass,  on 
which  were  moving  the  white  winged  ships.  Between  the 
curtains  the  early  light  came  in  winsomely  across  her  brow, 
stooping,  in  the  interval,  to  lavish  another  hue  of  brilliancy 
upon  the  flowers,  imbedded  like  gems  in  the  deep  moss 
ground  of  the  carpet.  Mary,  in  a  becoming  morning  gown 
of  rose  color,  with  pearl  satin  borderings,  was  arranging 
flowers  brought  from  the  adjoining  conservatory  in  the  vases 
upon  the  marble  leaves  about  the  room.  When  all  was  dis- 
posed to  her  liking,  she  took  her  harp  from  the  corner,  and, 
sitting  down  amid  the  cushions  of  a  divan,  suffered  her  fingers 
to  wander  carelessly  over  the  strings. 

"  Very  thoughtful  in  Horace  to  bring  me  this,  was  it  not?" 
she  observed  to  Edith. 


304  EDITH     HALE. 

"  Yes  ;  —  a  gift  among  the  many  like  a  lulling  breath  of 
summer  wind  among  all  beautiful  fruits  and  flowers." 

"  I  must  show  my  appreciation  by  learning  rapidly  to 
play  as  well  as  possible.  To-day  I  commence  receiving 
lessons." 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Edith,  "  that  I  must  also 
begin  to  work  in  earnest  for  the  future.  I  have  shaped  for 
myself  many  plans,  and  I  must  not  pause  by  the  attractive 
way.  My  next  effort  shall  be  to  search  out  the  residence  of 
my  aunt,  of  whom  I  have  told  you,  and  obtain  an  interview, 
if  possible,  according  to  the  instructions  of  my  mother  before 
her  death.  It  is  a  painful  work,  but  one  which  must  not  longer 
be  delayed." 

"  Horace  will  assist  you  in  this,"  said  Mary ;  "  and  I  will 
hope  for  your  success." 

At  breakfast  Edith  mentioned  the  matter  to  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, inquiring  if  a  lady  by  the  name  of  Regleton  were 
within  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance. 

"  Yes ;  Mrs.  Regleton,  of  Ashton  avenue,  —  the  wife  of 
Alpheus  Regleton,"  he  replied. 

"  That  is  the  lady  !     Describe  her,  if  you  please." 

"  A  lady  of  fashion  and  position ;  a  great  patron  of  the 
most  popular  shops ;  the  mother  of  two  children,  —  one  of 
whom  is  a  belle  among  her  set,  the  other  a  dissipated  exqui- 
site, or,  more  properly,  a  roue,  —  and  the  wife  of  one  of  the  most 
prodigal  livers  in  town." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  the  private,  the  real  character 
of  this  lady  ?  "  exclaimed  Edith,  with  earnestness. 


EDITH     HALE.  305 

"  Nothing.  How  can  we  know  any  truth  of  the  actual  life 
of  people  here  ?  The  outside  of  those  whom  we  meet  in 
fashionable  society  is  like  show-cakes,  gilded,  iced,  and  orna- 
mented over,  so  that  we  can  no  more  test  the  real  flavor  of 
the  one  than  the  other  example,  by  passing  them  on  exhibi- 
tion. Therefore  it  is  that  I  like  the  dwellers  in  the  country, 
who  are  less  artificially  '  got  up.'  No  marvel  it  is  to 
me  that  in  ancient  days  it  was  not  lawful  to  eat  the  shew- 
bread." 

"  Only  for  the  priests,"  said  Mary. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Mr.  Raymond  ;  "  some  priests  of  modern 
times  like  the  shew-cakes,  provided  they  are  rich." 

"  You  remind  me,"  said  Edith,  "  of  what  Tennyson  says  : 

'  But  if  I  praised  the  busy  town, 

He  loved  to  rail  against  it  still  ; 

For,  ground  in  yonder  social  mill, 
We  rub  each  other's  angles  down, 
And  merge,  he  said,  in  form  and  gloss, 

The  picturesque  of  man  and  man.' 

For  myself,"  she  continued,  with  animation,  "  it  was  always 
a  bright  dream  of  my  life  that  I  might  one  day  enjoy  the 
varied  advantages  of  a  noble  city  like  this.  I  am  certain  I 
shall  like  to  reside  here." 

"I  am  glad,  if  you  are  pleased,"  said  Mr.  Raymond; 
"  but  what  do  you  know  of  this  Mrs.  Regleton,  Edith  ?  " 

"  She  is  my  mother's  sister." 

"  Had  I  heard  that  earlier,  I  could  have  reserved  some  of 
26* 


306  EDITH     HALE. 

my  comments  upon  the  lady,"  said  Mr.  Raymond,  with  a 
smile  ;  "  though  the  old  saying,  '  It  is  not  best  to  spoil  a  story 
for  relations'  sake,'  holds  good  yet." 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  apologies,"  said  Edith.  "  Cir- 
cumstances of  an  unpleasant  nature  prevented  my  mother 
from  having  any  intercourse  with  her  sister  after  her  mar- 
riage ;  but  it  was  her  request  that  I  should  visit  her  at  the 
earliest  opportunity." 

"  I  will  conduct  you  to  her  residence  to-day,  if  you  like, 
at  the  fashionable  visiting  hour.  I  would  prefer  to  have  you 
begin  well,  for  the  lady  is  severe  in  her  exactions  where 
fashion  is  concerned,"  remarked  Mr.  Raymond. 

Edith  found  her  aunt's  residence  one  of  the  most  superb 
in  the  city.  As  she  crossed  its  threshold,  her  heart  misgave 
her.  But  a  thought  of  her  mother,  who  she  believed  watched 
over  her  in  all  her  ways,  brought  new  courage.  After  wait- 
ing a  long  time  for  the  appearance  of  her  aunt  in  the  receiv- 
ing room,  the  servant  who  had  taken  her  name  returned, 
Baying  that  Mrs.  Regleton  was  very  much  engaged. 

"  Tell  her,"  said  Edith,  "  that  I  have  business  of  import- 
ance, and  would  like  a  short  interview,  if  possible." 

At  last  Mrs.  Regleton  appeared.  She  was  attired  negli- 
gently, but  in  the  richest  fabrics,  and  bore  her  full,  heavy 
figure,  with  an  attempt  at  hauteur.  There  was  one  thing 
peculiar  about  her  appearance ;  it  was  a  bloom  upon  the 
Grecian  extreme  of  her  nose.  In  a  man  perhaps  this  would 
not  have  be'en  particularly  noticeable.  As  it  was,  it  became 
the  most  prominent  feature  of  her  face.  Her  cheek  was 


EDITH    HALE.  307 

"  like  a  rose  in  the  snow."  This  was  evidently  the  result  of 
the  art  of  the  toilet ;  but,  as  evidently,  the  nose  had  received 
its  color  from  after-dinner  libations.  Edith  could  scarcely 
believe  this  woman  to  be  her  aunt,  although  her  mother  had  told 
her  there  never  was  a  resemblance  between  her  sister  and  her- 
self. Mrs.  Regleton  seated  herself  at  a  dim  distance,  while 
she  fastened  her  cold  gray  eye  upon  Edith  without  speak- 
ing, taking  no  trouble  to  open  the  business,  whatever  it 
might  be. 

"  I  came,"  began  Edith,  her  voice  slightly  trembling, 
"because  my  mother  desired  that  I  should  see  you."  Her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  could  not  make  further  expla- 
nation. 

"Your  mother !  "  repeated  the  lady,  in  a  harsh,  heavy  voice  ; 
"  who  is  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Hale,  your  sister,  madam,  was  my  mother.  I  sup- 
posed you  already  knew  of  her  death." 

The  rose  upon  the  lady's  cheek  did  not  fade  now ;  but  her 
Iip3  were  a  little  paler,  and  the  color  upon  her  nose  came  out 
more  distinctly  than  ever.  She  said  nothing,  and  there 
seemed  nothing  more  to  be  paid,  for  the  lady  sat  as  though 
her  sensibilities  had  been  petrified.  There  seemed  danger  of 
her  falling  asleep.  At  length  she  arose  with  the  same  dumpish 
motion  with  which  she  had  entered  the  room,  pulled  the  bell, 
and  sat  down  again,  lifting  her  eye-glass  in  the  direction  of 
Edith. 

"  My  mother  thought — "  began  Edith  ;  but,  perceiving  the 


308  EDITH     HALE. 

lady's  eye-glass  beside  that  crimson  nose  levelled  upon  her, 
she  lost  heart,  and  stopped. 

"Thought  what?"  inquired  her  aunt,  lowering  her  glass. 

"  She  thought  perhaps  you  might  feel  differently  towards 
me,  when  she  was  gone."  The  servant  entered  at  this  mo- 
ment to  answer  the  summons  of  the  bell.  Mrs.  Regleton 
looked  at  her  watch. 

"  I  am  going  out,"  she  said.  "  Tell  John  to  bring  around 
the  carriage  in  fifteen  minutes." 

"  You  are  used  to  poverty,  I  suppose,  as  was  your  mother 
after  she  married,"  now  observed  her  aunt,  glancing  upon 
Edith's  plain  mourning  attire. 

"  My  mother  lived  in  good  circumstances  until  a  short  time 
before  my  father's  death,"  replied  Edith,  in  her  natural,  calm 
manner.  "  He  was  unfortunate,  since  which  we  both  were 
called  to  many  trials." 

There  was  another  pause,  broken  at  length  by  Mrs.  Re- 
gleton. 

"  Employment  is  what  you  want  of  me,  I  suppose  ?  "  she 
asked. 

It  was  evident  she  did  not  intend  to  waste  more  sen- 
sibility than  words.  "  My  daughter  is  in  want  of  a  maid ; 
but  that  would  not  do.  She  will  have  a  French  woman." 
This  she  said  to  herself  rather  than  to  Edith,  as  she  produced 
her  tablets,  from  which  she  read,  with  her  masculine  voice, 
"  Plain  sewing  for  myself,"  "  Embroidery  for  Hada,"  "  A 
chambermaid  — " 


EDITH     HALE.  309 

"  I  am  not  in  need  of  assistance  of  that  kind,  at  present," 
interrupted  Edith,  as  soon  as  she  had  recovered  from  the  sur- 
prise occasioned  by  the  comprehension  of  her  aunt's  purposes 
towards  her. 

Mrs.  Regleton  lifted  her  eyes  upon  Edith  with  an  expres- 
sion as  nearly  like  astonishment  as  her  dull  face  was  capable 
of  betraying. 

"  Not  want  work  !  "  she  exclaimed,  gruffly. 

"  The  time  has  been  when  it  was  different  with  me ;  but  I 
am  grateful  that  time  is  not  now,"  replied  Edith. 

"  You  don't  live  here  in  the  city,  then  ?  "  pursued  the 
lady. 

"  I  remain  here  at  present." 

"  How  is  this  ?  "  inquired  her  aunt.  "  You  have  no  rela 
tions  to  help  you.  Under  whose  protection  are  you  ?  " 

These  words  might  have  been  used  to  express  a  friendly 
interest  in  her  welfare,'  but  her  tone  was  significant  with  sus- 
picion. Edith  blushed  to  the  temples  as  she  heard  this  impli- 
cation. She  was  silent,  not  knowing  how  to  put  aside  her 
resentment,  which  was  attributed  by  her  aunt  to  a  conscious- 
ness of  guilt. 

"  I  am  under  the  protection  of  Him  who  has  never  forsaken 
me  through  all  my  afflictions,  and  I  trust  never  will !  "  she 
answered,  as  she  rose  to  leave. 

"  Stay,"  said  her  aunt,  imperatively ;  "  I  have  more  to  say. 
Sit  down  again,  till  I  collect  myself." 

Withdrawing  a  gold  snuff-box  from  her  pocket,  she  took 
several  nasal  inhalations  from  between  her  fingers,  which  had 


310  EDITH     HALE. 

been  inserted  within  the  box.  Mrs.  Regletou  never  resorted 
to  this  practice  in  company,  but  the  presence  of  Edith  sho 
considered  of  no  consequence. 

"  You  are  young  and  ignorant,"  began  the  lady,  when  she 
had  sufficiently  regaled  herself  with  the  perfumed  rappee ; 
"  your  mother,  it  seems,  is  dead,  and  — " 

"  Yes ;  she  was  the  child  of  the  same  parents  as  yourself," 
interrupted  Edith,  with  some  spirit. 

Mrs.  Regleton  waved  her  hand  impatiently. 

"  You  are  like  your  mother,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  this ; 
"  you  have  a  will  which,  if  you  do  not  crush  down,  will  prove 
your  ruin." 

"  I  am  proud,"  said  Edith,  as  she  stood  erect,  with  flashing 
eyes,  that  now  looked  unflinchingly  upon  her  aunt,  "  to  be  told 
I  am  like  my  mother.  She  was  good,  pure,  noble,  —  all  that 
the  good  revere  and  love :  not  like  those  who  caused  her,  in 
life,  many  a  pang  for  their  neglect.  She  has  gone  to  her 
reward,  and  her  enemies  cannot  despoil  her  of  that,  God  be 
praised  !  " 

In  the  hearing  of  these  words,  spoken  with  a  tone  which 
carried  power  and  conviction  with  it,  her  aunt  was  awed,  des- 
pite herself.  The  pale,  trembling  girl,  whom  she  had  but  late 
regarded  as  a  suppliant  before  her,  seemed  suddenly  trans- 
formed into  her  accuser  and  superior. 

"  You  may  go  now,"  she  murmured,  with  a  feeble  motion 
of  her  burly  head. 

"  Do  you  think,"  returned  Edith,  "  I  would  wish  to  remain 
in  the  presence  of  one  who  could  malign  my  mother  ?  No ! 


EDITH     HALE.  311 

it  is  needless  for  you  to  give  me  the  permission.     Nothing 
could  induce  me  to  remain  in  this  house  another  moment." 

"  Well  said,  since  the  choice  is  not  left  to  you,"  observed 
her  aunt. 

"  I  envy  nothing  in  your  possession,"  said  Edith,  as  she 
went  out ;  "  least  of  all  do  I  envy  you  the  conscience  you 
riust  ever  carry  with  you." 

Edith  walked  rapidly  away,  as  if  she  could  not  soon  enough 
put  distance  between  her  and  the  woman  whom  she  was  com- 
pelled to  acknowledge  her  aunt.  Once  more  in  the  presence 
of  Mary,  the  tenderness  of  her  heart  returned  ;  she  burst  into 
tears. 

"  Dear  Edith,"  exclaimed  Mary,  "  do  not  feel  so  distressed. 
What  has  happened  ?  " 

When  Edith  could  sufficiently  control  herself,  she  related  an 
exact  account  of  the  interview  with  her  aunt,  concluding  with 
a  passionate  declaration  of  her  gratitude  that  she  was  not 
dependent  for  her  bread  upon  one  so  utterly  unfeeling. 

"  She  did  not  imagine  that  you  had  friends  who  loved 
you,"  replied  Mary ;  "  but  such  a  reception  was  very  trying 
in  any  circumstances.  You  must  recall  some  of  that  excel- 
lent advice  you  used  to  give  me,  when  I  was  so  much  afflicted 
under  injuries.  '  It  will  come  out  right,  if  you  will  only  be 
patient,  and  trust  in  Him  who  is  able  to  do  more  abundantly 
than  you  can  ask  or  think,'  you  would  say ;  and  your  words 
proved  true,  —  so  soon  in  my  life,  too  !  " 

When  Edith  had  reflected  upon  this  little  episode  of  her 
life,  in  the  solitude  of  her  heart,  she  saw  that  she  had  repent- 


312  EDIT  II     HALE. 

ance  to  offer  for  not  sufficiently  commanding  herself;  and, 
recalling  a  higher  principle  from  the  holy  example,  prayed  to 
be  more  lowly  and  patient  in  future. 

Edith  now  took  the  preliminary  steps  for  attending  school, 
and  more  thoroughly  perfecting  her  education.  The  best 
advantages  were  free  to  her,  and,  with  the  advice  of  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, arrangements  were  soon  made  which  promised  that  for 
which  she  had  long  been  struggling.  Upon  an  evening  shortly 
preceding  her  new  pupilage,  she  was  sitting  with  Mary,  and 
discussing  her  plans  for  the  future,  when  they  were  interrupted 
by  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Raymond. 

"  Come  Mary,  Edith,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  hands  actively, 
as  was  his  habit  when  pleased,  "  I  've  a  lion  below  stairs  to 
show  you." 

"Who?  —  what?"  inquired  Mary,  not  a  little  surprised. 

"  It  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  who  has  called  to  see  you  — 
Hugh  Oliver,  the  distinguished  lawyer  and  politician,  and 
nephew  to  Major  Oliver,  of  Waterbury,  whom  you  know." 

"  I  will  be  excused,"  now  spoke  Edith  ;  "  he  will  not  care 
to  see  me." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Raymond,  "  I  shall  not  admit  your  excuse. 
He  is  a  single  man,  and  who  knows  what  may  come  of  it  ?  " 

Edith  could  not  be  persuaded,  however,  for  she  was  a  little 
wilful  upon  occasion ;  and  so  Mary  was  compelled  to  descend 
to  the  drawing-room  without  her.  A  few  minutes  later  she 
returned  to  Edith,  saying  that  Mr.  Oliver  desired  especially 
to  see  Miss  Hale,  if  convenient,  and  he  hoped  he  should  not 
be  disappointed. 


EDITH     KALE.  313 

"  To  see  me  !  "  exclaimed  Edith ;  "  he  does  not  know  me. 
There  is  some  mistake,  for  I  never  saw  him  in  my  life." 

"  He  is  determined  to  see  you,  nevertheless,"/said  Mary ; 
"  so  you  may  as  well  capitulate  at  once." 

"  This  is  a  singular  affair,"  said  Edith. 

"  It  may,  as  Horace  suggested,  prove  a  double  one  ulti- 
mately," rejoined  Mary. 

With  some  confusion  and  much  surprise,  Edith  this  time 
obeyed  the  summons.  Mr.  Oliver  arose  and  advanced  to  meet 
her  with  evident  interest.  Her  first  glance  upon  his  dark,  pierc- 
ing eyes  struck  her  speechless.  For  a  moment  she  felt  like 
falling  to  the  floor.  Perceiving  her  embarrassment,  Mr.  Ray- 
mond exerted  himself  to  accomplish  a  familiar  introduction. 

"  We  have  met  before,"  said  Oliver,  with  his  own  singular 
impressiveuess.  "  You  recollect  me,  Miss  Hale  ?  "  he  added, 
looking  down  upon  her  more  searchingly  than  before. 

"  I  do,  perfectly,"  she  replied,  accepting  the  seat  which  Mr. 
Raymond  offered  her  opportunely  at  this  moment.  Usually 
Edith  was  self-possessed  before  company,  but  now  her  face 
•was  roseate  with  blushes,  and  she  could  scarcely  trust  her 
voice  to  speak. 

"  I  was  not  at  all  advised  of  this,"  said  Mr.  Raymond. 
"  Why,  Edith,  did  you  not  tell  me  that  you  knew  Mr. 
Oliver  ?  " 

"  I  was  not  myself  aware  of  the  fact  before,''  replied  Edith. 

"  An  enigma  here,"  returned  Mr.  Raymond. 

Oliver  smiled  —  a  rare  and  peculiar  smile. 

Recovering  herself  a  little,  Edith  said,  with  an  effort, 
27 


314  EDITH     HALE. 

"  After  I  entered  upon  my  situation  in  W ,  my  first 

endeavor  was  to  learn  the  name  of  the  stranger  by  whose 
generous  assistance  it  had  been  obtained.  The  account  of  this 
favor,  for  which  I  was  under  such  obligations,  I  have  already 
told  you.  But  I  found  that  he  had  directed  that  all  knowledge 
of  himself  should  be  kept  from  me.  Now  I  need  no  longer 
wonder,  as  before.  The  mystery  is  solved." 

"  Indeed  ! "  said  Mr.  Raymond.  Turning  to  Oliver,  he 
added  :  "I  owe  you  a  debt  of  gratitude  for  this  favor  to  one 
who  is  a  near  and  dear  relative  to  me." 

"  Nothing  of  that,  if  you  please,"  rejoined  Oliver, 
"  The  principal  of  the  institution  who  received  my  rec- 
ommendation, Miss  Hale,  is  a  friend  of  mine  ;  and  I  re- 
quested he  would  not  disclose  my  name  if  you  inquired, 
because  I  wished  — .  Well,  the  reason  is  of  no  con- 
sequence —  " 

"  Knowing  that  you  have  a  habit  of  doing  good  deeds 
without  permitting  your  name  to  go  with  them,  I  can  readily 
divine  the  reason,"  interposed  Mr.  Raymond. 

"  Do  not  give  me  such  credit,"  rejoined  Oliver.  "  I  pre- 
sume a  liking  for  making  observations  in  my  own  way  influ- 
enced me,  chiefly.  I  was  about  to  say,"  he  continued,  to 
Edith,  "  that  intending,  if  possible,  to  renew  my  acquaintance 
with  you  at  some  future  time,  I  made  minute  inquiries  of  my 
friend  the  principal  respecting  your  success  in  that  situation, 
all  of  which  were  answered  most  favorably.  But,  after  you 
left  "W ,  I  lost  track  of  you,  until  recently  I  learned,  by 


EDITH    HALE.  315 

my  uncle  in  Waterbury,  that  you  resided  here  in  the  city, 
with  my  friend  Raymond." 

Edith  now  blushed  deeper  than  before,  if  possible.  These 
words  fell  with  a  keen  pleasure  upon  her  ear ;  for  she  had 
often  wondered  if  the  stranger  had  bestowed  a  second  thought 
upon  her,  as,  meanwhile,  he  had  been  so  frequently  in  her 
thoughts. 

Hugh  Oliver  was  brilliant  and  conversational  on  this  even- 
ing ;  so  much  so,  that  his  old  friend,  who  knew  him  well,  was 
surprised.  His  manner,  in  the  society  of  ladies,  most  frequently, 
was  so  reserved  that  he  seemed  phlegmatic  and  austere.  With 
his  clients  he  was  popular ;  by  his  personal  friends,  loved 
and  honored ;  and,  in  mass-meetings,  or  other  assemblies  of 
fervid  politicians,  he  was  almost  worshipped.  Sometimes, 
when  his  whole  soul  was  absorbed  in  business,  or  in  the  prep- 
aration for  some  great  occasion,  he  was  taciturn  and  ungenial 
to  all  who  came  in  his  vray.  Again,  he  would  bring  forth  a 
repartee,  with  unerring  aim,  as  a  privileged  jester  of  ancient 
time,  and  become  the  soul  of  the  company.  His  friends,  who 
valued  him  for  his  superior  talents,  had  learned  to  accom- 
modate themselves  to  his  moods. 

Hugh  Oliver  had  his  imitators,  or  those  who  aspired  to  be, 
as  has  every  man  of  mark.  But  the  peculiar  intrinsic  worth 
and  brilliancy  of  his  character  was  his  own,  and  defied  the 
ingenuity  of  copyists.  He  could  mingle  with  and  seemingly 
be  one  of  them  ;  but  never  could  they  become  like  him.  He 
could  descend  to  the  level  of  their  wit,  but  never  could  they 
rise  to  the  height  of  his  wisdom ;  —  as  the  diamond,  by  a 


316  EDITH     II  A  L  F.  . 

powerful  chemical  process,  may  be  reduced  to  gaseous  prod- 
ucts, but  no  degree  of  art  or  science  can  change  these  prod- 
ucts into  diamond. 

Edith  listened  to  his  words  with  rapt  admiration,  as,  after 
a  slight  apology,  he  turned  to  Mr.  Raymond,  and  spoke  of  an 
address  which  had  lately  been  delivered  upon  a  public  occa- 
sion, and  which  was  a  topic  of  conversation  among  gentlemen 
at  that  time.  Occasionally,  however,  as  he  conversed,  his 
eye  rested  upon  Edith  with  an  expression  of  interest,  which 
summoned  anew  the  blushes  to  her  cheek,  and  robbed  her  of 
all  her  usual  steadiness  of  nerve.  She  was  half  angry  with 
him  for  this  power,  and  more  displeased  with  herself  for  her 
lack  of  self-control ;  so  that,  when  he  turned  again,  and 
addressed  some  observation  to  her,  she  was  ungracious  enough 
to  leave  it  to  Mary  to  sustain  her  part  of  the  conversation. 

But  Oliver,  by  a  skilful  remark  or  two,  brought  on  an 
account  of  his  ride  with  Edith  from  Birhampton,  enlarging 
upon  the  adventure  with  the  snake.  He  represented  Edith 
as  almost  overcome  with  fright,  —  nearly  expiring  on  the  spot, 
except  for  his  timely  presence ;  all  which  he  detailed  with  a 
most  provoking  enjoyment.  Mr.  Raymond  shared  the  joke, 
and  protested  he  had  no  idea  before  that  Edith  was  such  a 
little  coward.  Edith  could  not  remain  silent  as  she  heard  this. 
Oliver  knew  that  nothing  will  kindle  a  lady  into  vivacity  so 
soon  as  to  impeach  her  courage.  Then  ensued  quite  a  scene. 
Edith  forgot  her  embarrassment,  and  appeared  to  advantage  ; 
for  a  woman  of  discernment  and  spirit  is  always  interesting 
when  natural  and  a  little  piqued. 


EDI  Til     HALE.  317 

Oliver  observed  her  with  ill  disguised  admiration.  At  last 
he  arose  to  leave,  saying  that  he  had  overstaid  his  time  by  an 
hour.  The  cordial  invitation  of  Mr.  Raymond  and  Mary  to 
visit  them  frequently  he  promised  to  accept,  to  which  Edith 
manifested  only  a  polite  indifference,  while  her  heart  was 
really  beating  high  with  emotion. 

After  his  departure,  Mr.  Raymond  rallied  Edith  upon  the 
evident  attention  she  had  received  from  Oliver,  concluding 
with,  "  But,  dear  Edith,  I  warn  you  not  to  fix  your  heart  upon 
him ;  for  I  see  he  is  just  the  ideal  of  your  imagination." 

"Thank  you!  Your  advice  is  good,"  said  Edith ;  "but, 
why  is  it  needful  ?  Is  the  gentleman  vowed  to  celibacy  ?  " 

'•  Report  whispers  that  he  is  to  wed  your  cousin,  Hadassa 
Regleton." 

Edith  started  ;  the  color  faded  from  her  cheeks. 

"  I  can  hardly  give  credit  to  the  rumor,"  continued  Mr. 
Raymond ;  "  for  I  should  suppose  she  is  not  the  girl  who 
would  share  such  affections  as  his." 

"  What  kind  of  a  girl  is  she  ?  "  inquired  Edith,  laboring  to 
suppress  her  interest. 

"  What  is  called  '  splendid,' —  a  beauty,  and  a  belle.  She 
likes  him,  indisputably,  as  what  girl  who  knew  him  would 
not  ?  " 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  him  bestow  attention  upon  her  ? " 
pursued  Edith. 

"  Yes,  at  our  soirees,  to  which  he  is  sometimes  persuaded  to 
come,  though  but  seldom ;  for  he  does  not  like  such  society. 
He  is  not  usually  attentive  to  the  ladies ;  but  Hada  Regleton 
27* 


318  EDITH     HALE. 

will  make  a  man  attentive  to  her,  if  possible.  The  secret  of 
his  civility,  I  presume,  is  her  being  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
most  influential  men  in  his  political  party ;  and,  as  Oliver  is  a 
rising  man,  who  aims  at  place  and  power,  he  knows  it  would 
not  be  very  politic  to  offend  llegleton." 

"  I  thought  you  spoke  unfavorably  of  my  aunt's  husband," 
said  Edith. 

"  What,  then,  my  little  innocent  ?  Don't  you  know  that 
some  of  the  worst  and  most  dissipated  men  in  the  country  are 
among.the  prime  movers  of  political  parties  ?  Oliver  himself 
is  known  to  be  a  man  of  principle,  and  about  as  conscientious 
a  politician  as  there  is,  of  these  times ;  but  he  cannot  turn  his 
back  upou  every  man  who  is  not,  if  he  wishes  to  gratify  his 
ambition.  He  would  find  himself  alone,  suddenly." 

Edith  looked  very  thoughtful. 

"  Oliver  may  marry  Hada,  after  all ;  for  there  is  no  know- 
ing how  men  like  him  will  marry.  You  may,  with  greater 
certainty,  calculate  upon  anything  else  in  the  world,"  concluded 
Mr.  Raymond. 

The  result  of  Edith's  reflections  upon  this  was,  a  vow  to 
Heaven  never  to  begin  to  love  again  until  her  love  had  been 
explicitly  sought,  and  by  one  whose  motives  were  thoroughly 
tested. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

CASE    OF    CONDESCENSION. 

IT  was  the  custom  of  the  new  minister  of  "Waterbury  to 
exchange  frequently ;  but  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance  among 
the  clergy,  for  the  most  part,  seemed  widely  dissimilar  to 
that  of  Mr.  Wellmont.  Every  minister  brought  a  message 
of  remarkable  pointedness  toward  idiosyncrasies,  occurrences, 
or  supposed  misdemeanors  among  the  people.  To  conclude 
that  this  resulted  from  coincidence  or  spiritual  intuition  alone, 
was  too  great  a  tax  upon  credulity. 

These  ministers,  generally,  were  from  sections  about  which 
Waterbury  people  had  no  personal  interest,  and  appeared  like 
mineralogical  specimens  and  petrifactions,  produced  by  Mr. 
Loomey  for  the  curiosity  rather  than  for  the  edification  of  his 
parish.  A  complaint  against  these  exchanges  reaching  Mr. 
Loomey,  by  means  of  Zephaniah  Wilkins  and  Mrs.  Witherell, 
the  next  exchange  announced  was  the  Rev.  Dr.  Xaylor. 

"  Not  that  I  make  this  arrangement  to  please  my  people," 
said  Mr.  Loomey,  in  a  comment  upon  the  fact,  to  Deacon 
Dennis,  "  but,  chiefly,  for  my  own  convenience.  I  wish  to  be 
absent  for  a  week  or  two  in  the  city,  and,  having  some  ae- 


320  EDITH     HALE. 

quaintance  with  Dr.  Naylor,  an  exchange  for  one  Sabbath 
has  been  arranged." 

The  Indians  used  to  mark  the  month  of  the  arrival  of  wild- 
geese  with  the  title  of  the  "  goose  moon ;  "  and  it  would  have 
been  no  more  than  befitting  to  have  honored  the  visits  of  this 
city  clergyman  with  some  such  distinguishing  appellation.  As 
the  people  had  not  forgotten  that  this  divine  had  graced  the 
pulpit  of  Waterbury  on  a  former  occasion,  they  were  not 
wholly  unprepared  for  the  honor  in  reserve  for  them.  His 
sermon  began  in  this  way  : 

"  For  many  years  have  I  been  the  pastor  of  a  church  and 
congregation  in  the  city.  For  the  last  year  I  have  been 
abroad ;  by  abroad  I  mean  on  the  continent ;  by  that  I  mean 
Europe,  —  countries  such  as  Italy,  Germany,  &c.  I  now 
appear  before  you  with  the  wisdom  and  experience  of  all 
these  years  of  varied  observation  and  knowledge,  having  also 
read  as  many  books  upon  all  sides  of  theology  as  any  other 
minister  or  man  living.  And  I  am  going  now  to  expound 
to  you  the  oracles  of  God ;  by  oracles,  I  mean  the  Scriptures, 
or  divine  communications,  and  I  trust  I  shall  succeed  in 
making  you  understand  me.  I  am  not  used  to  the  country, 
and  know  not  the  spiritual  food  which  should  be  set  before 
you ;  but,  if  you  will  give  me  your  attention,  and  make  an 
effort  to  understand  me,  my  labor  will  not  be  in  vain." 

Having  delivered  this  preface,  he  read  from  his  notes  an 
introduction  to  his  text,  after  which,  at  length,  was  announced 
the  text.  By  that  time,  some  of  the  people  began  to  ex- 
change glances.  Some  looked  frigidly  offended  at  these 


EDIT  II     HALE.  321 

implications  of  country  ignorance ;  and  some  were  so  absorbed 
with  curiosity  as  to  what  would  come  next,  they  did  not  pause 
for  reflection.  Father  Shaw  gave  a  very  loud,  sonorous  ahem ; 
Major  Oliver  extended  his  limbs  along  on  the  seat  of  his 
pew,  and  peered  out  from  one  eye  toward  the  pulpit,  alter- 
nating with  a  shrewd  look  about  him  with  the  other.  Dr. 
Humphrey's  face  revealed  a  variety  of  emotions.  He 
seemed  to  think  that  the  minister  was  afflicted  with  a 
disease  of  the  brain ;  or,  as  the  goatherd  thought  of  the 
valiant  knight  of  La  Mancha,  "  the  apartments  of  this  poor 
gentleman's  skull  were  but  indifferently  furnished."  A  few, 
however,  looked  upon  this  city  divine  as  upon  an  oracle. 

As  he  proceeded  with  his  discourse,  he  would  deliver  a  sen- 
tence, then  pause  to  explain  the  simplest  ideas  in  connection, 
continually  expressing  the  hope  that  the  people  would  not 
misunderstand  him,  and  as  frequently  as  possible  introducing 
an  allusion  to  the  amount  of  his  intellectual  resources  and 
honors,  especially  since  his  return  from  Europe.  It  was 
plain  that  the  original  sermon,  though  a  fair  one,  was  by  no 
means  extraordinary ;  and  it  was  so  much  interlarded  with 
explanatory  remarks  to  meet  the  ignorance  of  those  to  whom 
it  was  addressed,  that  the  proportion  and  effect  of  the  whole 
was  destroyed.  Usually  Dr.  Xaylor's  style  of  speaking  was 
somewhat  as  Blair  said  of  Lord  Shaftesbury's  — "  ever  in 
buskins  ;  "  but,  addressing  this  people,  it  seemed  that  he  was 
following  the  advice  which  Cromwell  gave  to  his  soldiers  — 
"  fire  low."  He  fired  so  low,  however,  that  he  hit  their  heels, 
instead  of  their  hearts  or  heads. 


822  EDITH      HALE. 

All  his  instructions  and  admonitions  were  delivered  to  his 
hearers  with  the  denominative  of  "  you,"  instead  of  "  we." 
"  You  arc  sinful,"  &c.  "  You  must  make  this  and  that  en- 
deavor." &c.  Once,  in  allusion  to  himself,  he  said,  "  I,  though 
a  minister  and  a  vicegerent  of  God,  am  mortal  like  your- 
selves." This  he  evidently  regarded  a  great  concession.  In 
his  frequent  mention  of  the  distinguished  places  which  he  had 
visited  "  in  Europe,"  and  the  people  with  whom  he  had 
enjoyed  an  intimate  acquaintance,  or  to  certain  books  with 
which  he  was  familiar,  he  spoke  as  though  they  had  never 
been  heard  of  by  those  whom  he  now  favored  with  the  sound 
of  his  voice ;  or,  if  heard  of,  as  indistinctly  and  imperfectly 
as  of  the  sacred  places,  gods,  and  books,  of  the  Hindoos ;  and 
to  "the  city"  he  gave  as  much  distinction  as  a  Moslem  to 
Mecca. 

Alexander  declared  that  the  Celts  were  great  boasters;  "  a 
character,"  adds  his  biographer,  "which,  from  the  Scordisci 
down  to  the  Gascons  and  the  modern  Celts  of  Ireland,  they 
most  undoubtedly  have  deserved."  A  genuine  Irishman,  how- 
ever, would  give  up  beaten  at  boasting  beside  this  inflated 
doctor  of  divinity.  • 

"  Poor  man !  "  said  Dr.  Humphrey,  in  conversation  with 
a  few  friends,  after  this  sermon  of  such  singular  importance, 
"  he  belongs  to  that  numerous  class  who  think  that  the  knowl- 
edge, refinement,  and  sense  of  the  world,  is  necessarily  derived 
from  associations  with  the  city,  while  the  '  extra  touches  '  of 
superiority  are  the  result  of  '  going  to  Europe.'  " 

"  He  evidently  thinks  us  all  a  set  of  fools,"  rejoined  one. 


EDITH     HALE.  323 

"  There  was  no  respect  lost,"  said  Major  Oliver,  "  for  he 
can't  think  us  more  foolish  than  we  think  him,  though  he  has 
been  to  Europe,  and  always  preached  in  a  city." 

"  Xo,  no,"  now  broke  in  Father  Shaw,  "  he  an't  a  fool, 
though  he  'pears  plaguy  like  one.  I  can  see  he  's  cunnin'  in 
him ;  ef  there  warnt,  he  would  n't  show  so  much  contrivance 
to  set  himself  up  over  other  folks,  and  strain  so  hard  to  make 
'em  feel  like  underlins.  He  's  like  a  man  with  two  faces,  — 
one  back,  t'  other  forrard.  One  on  'em  is  an  ass's  face,  t'  other 
a  fox's,  and  the  ass's  comes  fust.  But,  ef  a  body  '11  look 
sharp,  he  can  see  right  through  it,  to  the  cunnin'  that 's 
behind,  in  no  time.  Xo,  that  are  minister  an't  a  fool,"  con- 
cluded Father  Shaw,  with  a  sagacious  shake  of  his  head. 

"  It  takes  you  to  discern  the  difference,"  rejoined  Major 
Oliver ;  "for  there  is  nothing  that  makes  a  public  speaker 
seem  more  like  a  fool  than  to  talk  about  himself  all  the  time, 
for  fear  he  won't  be  appreciated." 

"  He  reminded  me,"  said  Dr.  Humphrey,  "  of  what  Shaks- 
peare's  Bottom  said  of  his  dream  :  —  '  Methought  I  was  — 
there  is  no  man  can  tell  what.  Methought  —  I  was,  and  me- 
thought I  had.  —  But  man  is  but  a  patched  fool,  if  he  will 
offer  to  say  what  methought  I  had.  The  eye  of  man  hath 
not  heard,  the  ear  of  man  hath  not  seen ;  man's  hand  is  not 
able  to  taste,  his  tongue  to  conceive,  nor  his  heart  to  report* 
whnt  my  dream  was;  it  shall  be  called  Bottom's  dream, 
because  it  hath  no  bottom.' " 

An  allusion  to  Shakspeare  always  kindled  Major  Oliver, 


324  EDITH     HALE. 

for,  in  his  youthful  days,  that  author's  works  were  his  sole  body 
of  philosophy,  almost  of  divinity. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  another  character  this  divine  is 
also  like.  When  he  hoped  so  fervently  that  we  might  under- 
stand him,  as  though  there  were  danger  of  his  knowledge  and 
formidable  honors  overpowering  us,  he  was  like  Snug,  who, 
when  about  to  act  the  part  of  the  lion,  came  out,  fearing  his 
audience  might  be  frightened  out  of  their  wits,  and  told  them 
'  Not  to  quake  and  tremble  when  Lion  rough  in  wildest  rage 
doth  roar,  for  it  was  only  Snug  the  Joiner,  dressed  up  in  a 
lion's  skin.'  Some  one  should  have  offered  an  explanation 
of  this  Naylor  dressed  up  in  a  lion's  skin." 

"  Betwixt  Bottom  and  Snug,"  said  Dr.  Humphrey,  "  the 
great  city  divine  is  sufficiently  explained." 

"  How  dare  you  allow  yourselves  such  freedom  when  speak- 
ing of  a  minister?"  interrupted  a  carping  voice,  at  this  junc- 
ture. They  turned  simultaneously,  and  saw  Zephaniah 
Wilkins.  "  I  have  heard  all  you  have  said  here,"  he  now 
commenced. 

"  Indeed  !  a  great  matter,"  rejoined  Major  Oliver. 

"  I  am  astonished  at  such  irreverence  in  persons  professing 
godliness,"  continued  the  conscience-keeper  in  general. 

"  Young  man,"  said  Father  Shaw,  "  it  must  be  hard  work 
for  yer  to  live,  there 's  allers  such  a  lot  of  evil  right  under  yer 
nose." 

"  '  What !  is  not  every  mortal  free  to  speak  ? 

I  '11  give  my  reasons,  though  I  break  my  neck  ! '  " 

concluded  Dr.  Humphrey,  just  as  Dr.  Naylor  emerged  from 


EDITH     HALE.  325 

the  church.  With  lofty  looks,  as  though  occupied  in  astro- 
nomical calculations,  and  entirely  above  sublunary  matters, 
he  held  his  way,  little  imagining  the  people  were  not  all  staring 
upon  him  with  awe  and  admiration,  as  the  slightest  return 
they  could  make  for  his  wonderful  condescension  in  appearing 
for  a  single  Sabbath  in  a  country  village. 

In  the  afternoon  his  discourse  was  upon  the  Christian 
ministry,  from  that  passage,  "  an  holy  priesthood,  to  offer  up 
spiritual  sacrifices,  acceptable  to  God  by  Jesus  Christ." 
His  ideas  upon  this  subject  were  a  little  novel,  whether  origin- 
ating purely  from  himself,  or  from  his  illimitable  observation 
and  reading.  After  the  priesthood  had  been  sufficiently 
glorified,  as  chosen  of  God  to  minister  and  especially  to  rule 
in  holy  things,  he  alluded  to  some  of  the  sacrifices  which  they 
had  made,  exhibiting  the  temper  of  their  Master.  Among 
these,  he  adduced  instances  of  the  labors  of  the  ministry  among 
the  poor,  which  would  have  been  approved  as  "  acceptable 
sacrifices,"  had  he  not  dwelt  with  such  lofty  and  chilling 
emphasis  upon  "  the  poor,"  whom  he  evidently  regarded  as 
embracing  the  inferior  class  exclusively. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Father  Shaw,  afterward,  in  relation  to 
this,  "  the  man  has  been  a  poor  boy,  and  has  had  to  work  for 
his  daily  porridge ;  for,  I  'm  an  old  man,  and  in  all  my  days 
I  never  see  folks  talk  so  about  '  the  poor,'  and  '  work,'  and 
draw  such  lines  'twixt  people,  but  what  some  time  or  other  in 
their  lives  they,  or  their  daddies,  had  to  work  as  tight  as  ever 
they  could  to  keep  themselves  out  of  the  poor-house.  Ye 
never  hear  a  body  who  is  raal  gentlefolk,  and  knows  what 's 
28 


326  EDITH     HALE. 

•what,  and  no  mistake,  talk  so  ;  for  they  know  it 's  only  marcy, 
and  not  merit,  that  makes  them  better  off  than  their  poor  feller- 
critters,  and  in  the  next  shift  of  God's  fortin  they  may  be 
blown  clear  down  ter  the  foot  of  the  hill,  while  the  poor  folks 
may  be  carried  up." 

Dr.  Naylor's  presentiment  proved  prophetic ;  he  entirely 
failed  of  being  appreciated  by  the  country  congregation,  not- 
withstanding his  labors  to  prove  his  superiority. 

Not  long  after  this,  Dr.  Humphrey  was  visited  by  an  old 
friend  who  was  a  clergyman  of  another  denomination,  a  de- 
vout and  exemplary  man,  whom  he  invited  to  attend  with 
him  an  evening  meeting  for  prayer  and  conference  in  the 
vestry.  A  good  number  were  present,  for,  owing  to  the  active 
efforts  of  a  few  devoted  people,  an  unusual  degree  of  interest 
in  religious  things  prevailed  at  this  time.  A  half  hour  after 
the  time  appointed  for  the  commencement  of  the  meeting 
passed  by  without  Mr.  Loomey's  appearance,  and  as  his 
tardiness  was  a  habit  to  which  they  had  become  accustomed, 
the  stranger  minister  was  invited  by  Father  Shaw  to  open  the 
exercises.  He  was  heard  with  serious  attention,  for  he  evi- 
dently spoke  as  he  was  moved  by  the  spirit  of  truth.  His 
religion  was  the  old  fashioned,  experimental  religion  of  the 
Gospel,  and  not  simply  a  theology  born  of  modern  isms, 
which,  issuing  from  the  brain  instead  of  the  heart,  is  utterly 
powerless  to  touch  the  heart.  The  Bible  was  the  exhaustless 
mine  in  which  he  had  sought  diligently  for  treasures;  and  he 
had  found  pure  gold,  from  which  he  had  shapen  the  ornaments 
of  his  spirit.  Every  word  he  uttered  fell  upon  the  hearts  with 


EDITH     HALE.  327 

power,  convincing  of  sin,  of  righteousness,  and  of  judgment ;  and 
his  short,  fervent,  and  appropriate  prayer  seemed  to  call  down 
blessings  divine  upon  the  waiting  listeners. 

All  the  words  were  so  indicative  of  a  universal  sympathy 
with  the  faith  and  needs  of  all  the  true  followers  of  the  great 
3Iaster,  that  no  one  had  thought  of  the  speaker's  belonging  to 
another  denomination.  And,  to  do  the  majority  of  that  peo- 
ple justice,  they  were  never  disposed  to  regard  such  differences 
with  the  tenacious  prejudices  which,  tradition  informs  us,  have 
sometimes  existed  among  Christians  of  different  denominations. 
But  when  Mr.  Loomey  appeared,  and  saw  another  standing 
in  his  place  who  was  not  after  his  own  order,  he  at  once 
betrayed  displeasure,  which  he  could  not  or  did  not  care  to 
conceal. 

Without  noticing  the  minister,  he  arose  before  the -meeting 
and  expressed  openly  his  disapproval  of  their  not  waiting  for 
his  coming. 

"  I  feel  wounded,"  he  said,  "  even  as  was  Jesus  when  he 
came  and  found  his  disciples  asleep,  and  reproved  them; 
'  What !  could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one  hour  ?  Ye  should 
have  watched  and  prayed  that  ye  might  not  have  entered  into 
temptation ! ' '  Other  remarks  he  added,  which  expressed  so 
much  feeling,  no  one  could  fail  to  see  that  he  had  for  once,  at 
least,  forgotten  his  usual  dignity,  and  was  exhibiting  the 
appearance  of  an  angered  man.  When  he  had  concluded, 
Father  Shaw  arose  and  said : 

"  Instid  of  our  bein'  like  the  disciples  who  were  found 
asleep,  we  was,  in  fact,  wide  awake,  and  watching  for  you  to 


328  EDITH     HALE. 

come ;  though,  we  gut  along  so  well,  arter  this  ere  minister 
begun,  we  'd  'bout  furgut  to  watch  for  you.  We  was  havin'  a 
good  meetin',  and  we  felt  our  hearts  drawn  out  towards  this 
man ;  and  I,  for  one,  don't  care  a  snap  ef  he 's  'listed  under 
jest  such  a  banner  as  mine,  or  not.  At  any  rate,  Christ  and 
him  crucified  is  on  his  banner,  and  that 's  all  I  want  to  know. 
But  — "  Here  the  old  man  paused,  looked  hard  at  a  nail  in 
the  floor  a  minute,  then,  casting  about  him  one  of  his  queerest 
looks,  proceeded,  "  This  ere  makes  me  think,  instid  of  our 
Lord  and  his  disciples,  of  that  are  time  when  the  sons  of  God 
came  to  present  themselves  afore  the  Lord,  and  Satan,  he 
came  also  amongst  'em.  Now,  I  don't  say  that  Satan  has  come 
in  here,  but  I  do  say  that  it  'pears  as  ef  a  spirit  contrary  to 
that  of  the  Lord  had  come.  And  the  best  thing  we  can  do  is, 
to  pray.it  out  as  fast  as  we  can." 

An  unusual  sensation  now  pervaded  the  vestry-room,  and 
smiles  were  exchanged  freely.  Behold  how  great  a  matter  a 
little  fire  kindleth !  These  few  plain  words  of  Father  Shaw 
fell  down  on  that  assembly  like  burning  coals.  No  one,  how- 
ever, felt  actually  burned,  but  Mr.  Loomey ;  he  was  afire  in  a 
moment. 

"  I  am  astonished  beyond  measure  at  the  wicked  spirit  I 
see  here  manifested,"  he  replied;  "  it  is  a  spirit  of  disorder, 
of  sin,  of  the  depths  of  evil,"  he  paused  for  shortened  breath ; 
he  took  off  his  spectacles,  and  laid  them  aside  rashly ;  he  sat 
down,  but  arose  almost  as  soon,  and  continued,  "I  shall  not 
say  much  on  this  occasion ;  it  is  not  proper  to  lay  open  our 
hearts  before  strangers  and  aliens  from  the  commonwealth  of 


EDITH     HALE.  829 

Israel.  But,  be  assured,  this  shall  not  be  the  end  of  this 
matter !  "  and  he  looked  at  Father  Shaw  as  though  he  would 
gladly  have  pitched  him  into  a  red  hot  furnace,  in  less  than  a 
thought. 

The  stranger  minister  now  arose,  and,  in  a  tone  of  sincere 
feeling,  "  regretted  that  ho  had  unintentionally  been  an 
instrument  of  wounding  another,  and  that  other  a  laborer  in 
the  great  vineyard  of  the  Lord.  He  said  when  he  found 
himself  among  Christians  of  whatever  denomination,  with 
whom  he  had  fellowship  as  followers  of  Christ,  it  was  his 
habit  and  privilege  to  join  with  them  in  the  worship  of  the 
God  over  all,  blessed  forever ;  as  he  hoped  it  would  be  his 
unspeakable  glory  to  do  in  heaven  hereafter.  But,  if  in  so 
doing,  on  this  occasion,  he  had  been  an  instrument  of  dissen- 
sion among  brethren,  he  was  unfeignedly  sorry  j"  and,  taking 
his  hat,  he  walked  calmly  out. 

Thereupon  Zephauiah  Wilkins  began  in  favor  of  Mr.  Loo- 
mey,  and  insinuated  even  more  than  usual  against  "  certain 
members  of  the  church,"  who  were  pestilent  and  disorderly. 
He  was  now  in  his  element,  it  was  clear ;  for  he  had  at 
last  found  a  nail  on  which  to  hang  up  a  reproof,  tangible  and 
durable.  After  speaking  at  length,  in  his  own  peculiar  style, 
he  said  that  he  perfectly  approved  of  Mr.  Loomey's  saying 
that  the  matter  should  not  end  in  that  way.  He,  for  one, 
would  sustain  him  hi  obtaining  whatever  redress  he  should 
think  proper  to  demand ;  for  certain  members  of  that  church 
had  been  suffered,  caiite  too  long  and  unconscionably,  to  deal 
in  universal  freedom  against  the  ministers  of  the  church,  and 
28* 


330  EDITH     HALE. 

the  Aarons  and  Hurs  who  would  stay  up  their  hands.  Deacon 
Goodwin  put  forth  some  endeavors  to  mediate  between  the 
excited  feelings  of  the  parties,  but  they  were  ineffectual. 
But  those  present,  who  were  in  the  habit  of  being  prominent 
in  important  matters  of  the  church,  did  not  see  clearly  the 
wisdom  of  taking  part  in  such  a  singular  difficulty.  After 
this,  of  course,  the  religious  exercises  of  the  meeting  could 
not  be  continued,  and,  with  a  variety  of  emotions,  the  people 
dispersed  to  their  several  homes. 

By  the  next  day,  an  account  of  the  meeting  had  circulated 
throughout  the  village,  and  it  was  as  currently  reported  that 
Mr.  Loomey  was  making  preparations  for  some  unusual  event. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE    COUNCIL. 

ALL  this  resulted  in  an  Ecclesiastical  Council.  Clergymen 
and  laymen  of  the  same  denomination  in  the  vicinity  were 
invited  te  attend,  and  take  part  in  the  deliberations  of  this 
body. 

It  was  also  a  motley  one,  though  embracing  only  those  who 
were  members  of  that  church,  and  kindred  churches;  there 
were  short  ministers  and  long  ones,  solemn  and  serene  ones, 
handsome  and  plain  ;  and  so  it  became  scarcely  less  an  object 
of  curiosity,  to  the  reflecting  observer,  than  the  figures  of 
ecclesiastical  personages  in  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  Roman 
Tribune,  with  their  faces  of  agate,  eyes  of  opal,  coats  and 
robes  of  lapis-lazuli,  legs  of  jasper,  and  sandals  of  porphyry. 
They  looked  the  impersonations  of  various  ideas,  rather 
than  so  many  mortal  beings ;  and  were  as  clearly  defined  in 
their  bearing  from  the  active  men  of  the  business  world,  as 
transcendental  philosophy  is  from  natural  philosophy.  Mr. 
Loomey  had  generally  summoned  only  those  whom  he  thought 
to  be  after  his  own  heart ;  hence  there  was  a  class  of  clergy- 
men hardly  represented  at  all. 


332  EDITH     HALE. 

As  yet  no  one  of  them  had  any  definite  idea  for  what  they 
had  been  assembled.  They  only  knew  that  differences  existed 
between  Mr.  Loomey  and  certain  members  of  his  church. 

After  a  prayer  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lund,  in  which  he  expressed 
his  opinion  to  Heaven  with  freedom  concerning  the  minister's 
trials,  the  hardness  of  people's  hearts,  and  the  judgments  con- 
sequent, the  Rev.  Mr.  Crabtree  was  chosen  chairman,  and  Zeph- 
aniah  Wilkins  secretary.  The  allegations,  for  the  consideration 
of  which  the  council  had  been  summoned,  were  then  read  : 

"  Rev.  Mr.  Loomey  and  others  against  Moses  Shaw  and 
others. 

"  First :  Moses  Shaw  has  been  so  irreverent  and"  unchari 
table  as,  in  a  meeting  for  conference  and  prayer,  to  associate 
the  idea  of  his  pastor  with  that  of  Satan. 

"  Second :  J.  R.  Humphrey  and  Clement  Oliver  have  been 
so  irreverent  and  uncharitable  as  to  compare  a  reverend  divine, 
who  had  been  invited  by  their  pastor  to  preach  in  exchange 
for  him,  to  Shakspeare's  Bottom  and  Snug. 

"  Third :  Moses  Shaw,  J.  R.  Humphrey,  Clement  Oliver, 
and  others,  have,  on  various  occasions,  and  in  reference  to 
spiritual  things,  manifested  gross  disrespect  for  the  opinion  of 
their  pastor,  and  of  certain  useful  members  of  the  church, 
thereby  exerting  a  baleful  influence,  and  sowing  sedition 
among  the  followers  of  the  truth." 

This  was  read  by  Zephaniah,  in  his  own  nice,  peculiar  man- 
ner. He  was  a  finical-looking  man,  with  a  straight  figure, 
straight  black  hair,  always  brushed  smoothly  on  either  side  of 


EDITH     HALE.  333 

its  division  in  the  middle,  and  with  a  straight  nose,  save  the 
extremity,  which  suddenly  turned  upward,  like  a  fish-hook 
which  had  been  somewhat  bent  out  by  use.  Possessing 
illimitable  confidence  in  and  respect  for  Zephaniah  Wilkins, 
he  stood  up  before  all  that  assembly,  and  read  these  accusa- 
tions against  men  of  such  "  dark  brown  years  "  with  great 
promptitude  and  nice  emphasis. 

These  accusations  produced  no  slight  sensation  among  the 
audience.  Some  of  the  ministers  looked  graver  than  before. 
Mr.  Crabtree,  the  chairman,  elevated  his  eyes  to  the  carved 
centre-piece  on  the  ceiling  of  the  church,  as  if  in  momentary 
expectation  of  a  glimpse  of  the  Evil  One  through  the 
little  aperture.  Mr.  Swinton  actually  laughed  before  he 
was  aware,  but  suddenly  leaned  forward  under  the  desk- 
cushion  and  drank  from  a  glass  of  water  which  had  been 
prepared  for  the  accommodation  of  the  ministers,  who  were 
expected  to  have  a  dry  time  before  they  got  through  with 
business  of  so  much  importance.  When  he  again  emerged  to 
the  view  of  the  people,  he  was  all  composed  decently  and  in 
order ;  but  there  was  a  certain  look  upon  his  face,  which,  like 
one  of  gutta  percha,  betrayed  its  capacity  for  strange  expres- 
sions at  the  slightest  pull  of  the  risibilities. 

Mr.  Loomey  opened  the  meeting  with  lengthy  remarks. 
He  had  completely  recovered  his  habitual  dignity  and  solem- 
nity, and  appeared  on  this  occasion  with  all  the  heroism  of 
one  who  has  been  called  to  pass  through  as  many  hairbreadth 
escapes  and  severe  afflictions  as  was  the  apostle  Paul.  He 
animadverted,  with  zeal  and  precision,  upon  the  trials  he  had 


334  EDITH     HALE. 

endured,  since  coming  to  Waterbury,  from  the  irreverence  of 
some  of  the  members  of  the  church  in  setting  a  general  ex- 
ample of  insubordination  to  the  minister.  This  occupied  at 
least  an  hour.  Another  hour  he  consumed  in  bringing  proofs, 
scriptural  and  otherwise,  of  the  necessity  of  enforcing  the  most 
stringent  church  government  for  the  protection  of  the  clergy 
in  carrying  out  the  rule  of  the  churches  solemnly  committed 
to  their  care.  He  concluded  by  appealing  to  all  present,  who 
were  conscientiously  in  favor  of  good  order  as  laid  down  in 
the  Scripture,  and  of  the  punishment  of  the  seditious  by 
public  example,  to  sustain  him  on  that  occasion. 

One  of  the  ministers  inquired  if  the  scriptural  commands 
for  such  cases  of  difficulties  had  been  followed  in  this  instance. 
To  this  Mr.  Loomey  said  it  was  impracticable,  in  the  present 
case,  to  visit  the  offenders  :  they  would  have  added  sin  to  sin, 
by  gross  irreverence  to  a  minister  of  God ;  and,  to  avoid 
altercation  as  much  as  possible,  he  had  deemed  it  the  wisest 
course  to  lay  the  matter  before  individuals  capable  of  adjust- 
ing the  difficulty  at  once.  In  this  he  alleged  that  many  of 
the  church  had  upheld  him ;  and  he  called  upon  his  deacons, 
and  others  whom  he  regarded  as  his  friends,  to  express  their 
minds. 

Deacon  Dennis  had  such  reverence  for  all  the  ministers  of 
his  faith,  that  he  would  almost  have  been  willing  to  have  died 
for  one  of  them,  if  called  upon.  He  therefore  spoke  with  ear- 
nestness against  the  accused,  and  said  that  those  that  had  the 
disposition  to  compare  such  a  good  and  devoted  man  as  their 
pastor  to  the  Evil  One,  or  to  compare  any  minister  of  God  to 


EDITH     HALE.  335 

heathenish  characters  with  bad  names,  could  not  possibly  have 
the  spirit  of  truth  abiding  in  them.  He  was  in  favor  of 
expressing  decided  disapprobation  of  such  conduct;  for,  if 
such  examples  were  countenanced,  the  rising  generation  would 
all  be  left  to  go  to  the  state  prison  and  to  perdition.  One  or 
two  others  immediately  seconded  these  remarks. 

Mr.  Loomey  made  several  efforts,  personally  and  by  proxy, 
to  get  Mr.  Pickering  to  speak  in  his  favor.  Mr.  Pickering 
paid  largely  for  the  support  of  the  ministry,  and  had  many 
under  his  influence ;  but  he  seldom  spoke  in  public,  and,  on 
this  occasion,  the  appearance  of  such  a  congregation  awed 
him  beyond  the  possibility  of  opening  his  lips  before  them. 
Besides,  he  was  not  wholly  in  favor  of  Mr.  Loomey. 

After  this,  witnesses  were  called,  questions  were  asked, 
records  read,  and  remarks  interpolated  by  Mr.  Loomey  and 
his  friends,  always  foremost  of  which  was  Zephaniah  Wilkins. 
Various  were  the  schemes  employed  by  Mr.  Loomey.  Some- 
times he  affected  to  be  indifferent  as  to  the  result  of  the 
council,  being  sure  that  the  cause  of  truth  and  justice  must 
ultimately  prevail. 

And  so  the  first  day  was  consumed.  The  accommodation 
of  so  many  ministers  was  a  matter  of  some  calculation.  That 
they  might  as  much  as  possible  be  in  the  company  of  Mr. 
Lcomey  for  private  conference,  Mrs.  Witherell  received  them 
to  the  limits  of  the  capacity  of  her  establishment.  She  was 
necessitated,  in  consequence,  to  ask  Mr.  Loomey  to  take  a 
bed-fellow  in  the  person  of  one  of  the  clergymen.  He  was 
overwhelmed  with  the  idea !  It  was  a  desecration  of  his 


336  EDITII     IIALE. 

personal  sanctity  !  He  said  :  "  I  will  willingly  set  my  weary 
body  upon  a  cane-seat  chair  and  read  rny  Bible  all  night ; 
bnt  share  my  bed  with  any  human  being  —  never ! "  In 
reporting  this  to  her  friends  subsequently,  Mrs.  AYitherell 
exclaimed : 

"  Dear  me  !  I  don't  think  I  ever  felt  so  bad  in  my  life  as 
as  I  did  when  I  found  I  had  so  wounded  his  feelings.  And, 
when  I  saw  his  very  eyelids  tremble  with  emotion,  I  could 
have  fallen  at  his  feet,  and  implored  his  pardon  with  tears. 
He  has  ways  of  his  own,  but  he  is  one  of  the  best  men, — 
indeed,  I  may  say  the  very  best  of  men  I  ever  knew ;  and  to 
think  how  he  has  been  used  here  among  those  for  whom  he  is 
laboring  so  hard  !  What  will  become  of  his  enemies  I  don't 
dare  to  think  !  " 

On  the  following  day,  after  Mr.  Loomey  had  alluded  to  the 
indignities  he  had  received,  Father  Shaw  arose  before  the 
assembly.  No  one  could  fail  to  be  impressed  by  his  appear- 
ance. 

His  graces  were  not  factitious, —  made  up  of  liberal  privi- 
leges and  endowments.  He  was  what  God  had  made  him,  not 
man.  His  brain  was  full  of  sound  common  sense ;  and  his 
heart  obeyed  its  dictates  for  the  most  part  in  the  channel  of 
right  feeling. 

As  he  arose  there,  he  seemed  the  study  of  the  sculptor, 
who  writes  his  work  with  the  chisel  upon  stone,  rather  than 
of  the  artist,  with  his  pencil  of  exquisite  shading  and  tint- 
ing. His  hair,  swept  away  from  the  top  of  his  head  by 
the  ravages  of  time,  in  wavy  lines  of  silver,  dashed  here  and 


EDITH     HALE.  337 

there  with  deeper  shades  of  a  paly  green,  fell  on  either  side 
to  his  shoulders.  His  eye  was  blue,  kindly  and  benevolent 
in  expression,  with  certain  lines  about  the  corners,  corres- 
ponding with  the  curved  lips,  that  betokened  a  capability  for 
mirth,  and  appreciation  of  the  ludicrous.  But  when  he  was 
aroused,  the  light  of  an  earnest,  independent  soul  shone 
steadily  within  it,  which  no  other  eye  could  behold  unmoved. 
He  was  of  medium  height,  perfectly  erect,  and,  although 
moulded  after  a  primitive  order,  always  appeared  in  an  attire 
which  was  of  good  quality,  and  scrupulously  neat.  Looking 
about  him  calmly  for  a  moment,  he  thus  began : 

"  Friends  and  brethren  :  I  'm  fetched  up  here  on  a  charge 
of  want  of  reverence  for  my  minister.  Perhaps  ye  think  that 
what  I  said  was  in  the  spleen  of  the  time,  and  that  I  shall  be 
brought  to  see  my  own  shame.  There 's  one  Bein'  who  can 
make  me  bow  down  to  the  dust  afore  him,  and  ondy  one.  I 
an't  sorry  for  a  word  I  Ve  said  about  any  minister ;  and,  if  I 
live  and  I  think  there  's  occasion,  I  shall  say  a  deal  more. 
Thanks  be  to  God,  I  live  in  a  land  of  freedom  !  I  '11  be 
drawn  through  a  knot-hole,  I  '11  be  burnt  ter  the  stake,  I  '11 
be  chopt  up  into  mince-meat,  afore  I  '11  submit  to  any  man 
so  as  not  to  speak  out  my  mind  when  I  think  it  ought  to  be 
spoken.  My  father  afore  me  fought  for  his  liberty  on  the 
field  of  battle,  and  I  loaded  his  gun  for  him ;  but  now  I  'in 
old  enough  to  load  my  guns  and  fire  too.  I  know  the  Gospel 
is  a  gospel  of  peace ;  but  what 's  a  body  goin'  to  do  ef  all 
can't  agree  to  be  peaceable  and  on  equal  terms?  Shall  one 
man  cringe  to  another,  so  that  there  '11  be  peace  ?  I  shan't, 
29 


838  EDITH     HA  LE. 

for  erne,  to  a  man  about  half  as  old  as  I  am,  when  he  lets  off 
such  a  sperit  of  evil !  " 

"I  call  the  speaker  to  order!"  now  interrupted  Mr. 
Loomey. 

"  Well,  you  've  a  right  to,  and  so  have  I  a  right  to  take  no 
notice  on  't,"  responded  Father  Shaw.  He  continued :  "  Let 
me  jest  put  a  case  about  this  ere.  A  boy,  with  a  great  con- 
sate  of  himself,  goes  to  college,  and  then  inter  one  of  them 
are  institutions  called  the  Schools  of  the  Prophets.  I  guess, 
ef  the  ancient  prophets  had  to  go  inter  such  schools  as  them, 
they  'd  rather  go  through  lions'  dens,  and  red-hot  furnaces, 
and  great  fishes'  bellies.  They  study  books  made  up  by  men 
who  are  called  great  philosophers ;  but  they  are  'bout  as 
much  philosophers  as  that  are  one  that  spent  so  much  time 
afore  a  shop,  contrivin'  how  a  calf  got  through  a  hole,  'cause 
the  tail  of  one  hung  out  there  for  a  sign.  They  larn,  too, 
to  despise  all  common  people,  as  they  call  'em,  —  all  such  old 
fellers  as  I  am,  —  all  kinds  of  work,  and  everything  on  airth, 
only  what  they  think  is  as  good  as  they  are ;  for  there  an't 
nothin'  better.  They  study  a  deal,  too,  how  to  govern  people, 
and  keep  'em  in  their  places,  as  they  say.  Least  of  all  do 
they  study  the  Bible.  Well,  they  come  out  knowin'  no  more 
'bout  real  life  than  a  man  that 's  allers  lived  in  a  balloon. 
Some  on  'em  go  to  Garmany,  and  study  a  spell  more,  which 
only  makes  a  bad  matter  wuss.  Then  they  set  themselves  up 
for  ministers,  and  call  those  that  go  to  hear  'em  preach  '  my 
people,'  and  all  that  ere.  They  straight  begin  their  trainin' 
business,  and  order  round  people  as  if  they 's  so  many  mer- 


EDITH     HALE.  339 

chines,  —  old  men,  too,  who  've  studied  the  Seripturs  all 
their  days,  and  have  forgut  more  than  they  ever  knew.  Ef 
they  won't  cringe  to  'em,  they  must  be  hauled  up,  as  I  am 
now,  and  then  turned  out  of  the  church.  I  'in  in  favor  of 
eddication ;  though,  perhaps,  ye  think  I  an't,  by  what  I  've 
paid.  The  more  a  man  knows,  the  better,  ef  it 's  the  right 
kind  of  knowledge.  I  don't  care  how  much  time  a  body 
spends  in  college,  or  anywhere  else,  ef  he  won't  come  out  and 
undertake  to  drive  the  whole  world  arterwards,  and  scream, 
everywhere  he  goes,  '  Attention,  all  creation !  here 's  some- 
body to  cringe  to  ! ' 

"  When  ye  git  together  at  yer  solemn  feasts  and  yer  'socia- 
tions,  ye  say,  '  What 's  the  reason  we  don't  prosper  and 
flourish  as  we  used  to  ? '  Our  churches  are  all  goin'  down ; 
our  ministers  don't  stay  long  in  a  place,  and  we  're  running 
out  year  by  year.  Why  don't  the  sheep  foller  arter  the 
shepherd  as  they  used  ter  ?  Now,  I  remember  readin'  some- 
where that  the  shepherds  in  old  times  used  to  make  music 
by  blowin'  on  reeds,  and  pipes,  and  such  are,  so  that  the 
flock  loved  to  follow  'em.  Well,  let  the  shepherds  now-a- 
days  go  afore  the  sheep  with  their  music,  and  they  won't 
have  to  go  behind  with  their  whips ;  —  there  won't  be  any 
stragglers,  nor  no  buntin' ;  —  they  '11  all  go  on  as  slick  as  a 
mill.  The  prophet  Isaiah  said :  '  The  darter  of  Zion  is  left 
as  a  cottage  in  a  vineyard  ;  as  a  lodge  in  a  garden  of  cucum- 
bers ;  as  a  besieged  city.  To  what  purpose  are  the  multitude 
of  j'our  sacrifices  unto  me  ?  saith  the  Lord.  When  ye  come 
to  appear  afore  me,  who  hath  required  this  at  your  hand  to 


340  EDITH     HALE. 

tread  ray  courts  ? '  Now,  there  's  jest  the  pint.  These  ere 
ministers,  arter  they  've  studied  and  studied  their  brains  all 
out  with  high  notional  nonsense,  and  are  so  arbitrary,  as  ef 
nobody  knew  nothin'  but  the  ten  commandments  'cept  them- 
selves, they  '11  scold  and  fume  away  at  the  world,  which  jogs 
right  on  without  stoppin'  to  look  at  'em  ;  they  '11  complain  of 
not  bein'  taken  care  on,  and  sustained,  and  all  that  ere.  '  But 
who  hath  required  this  at  yer  hands  ?  saith  the  Lord.  Bring 
no  more  vain  oblations  :  incense  is  an  abomination  unto  me  ; 
the  callin'  of  assemblies  I  cannot  away  with ;  it  is  iniquity, 
even  the  solemn  meetinV  Jest  as  our  solemn  meetin'  was 
turned  to  be  the  other  night." 

"  I  call  the  speaker  to  order ! "  now  spoke  Zephaniah 
Wilkins. 

Father  Shaw  turned  and  looked  for  an  instant  upon  Zeph- 
aniah ;  but  he  resumed,  without  deigning  other  notice :  "  I 
don't  believe  in  such  calls  to  preach.  The  Bible  expressly 
speaks  against  all  such  work.  It  says :  '  I  have  not  sent 
these  prophets,  but  they  ran  ;  I  have  not  spoken  to  them,  yet 
they  prophesied.'  How  did  Christ  and  his  apostles  do  ?  In 
the  fust  place,  they  were  humble  ;  they  did  n't  set  themselves 
up  over  anybody  else,  and  this  ere  is  the  way  to  get  exalted. 
The  more  a  man  'sumes  for  himself,  the  less  other  folks  will 
give  him.  They  were  moved  by  the  spirit  of  love,  and  had  n't 
time  nor  heart  to  sec  ef  other  folks  reverenced  'em  enough. 
The  apostle  Peter  says :  '  Feed  the  flock  of  God  which  is 
among  you,  takin'  the  oversight  thereof,  not  by  constraint,  but 
willingly  ;  not  for  filthy  lucre,  but  of  a  ready  mind ;  neither 


EDITH    HALE.  341 

as  bein'  lords  over  God's  heritage,  but  bein'  samples  to  the 
flock.'  I  've  allers,  all  my  life,  marked  it,  when  minis- 
ters, or  anybody  else  in  the  church,  'sume  the  most  holiness 
and  sanctipocrisy  to  themselves,  settin'  up  as  lords,  you  may 
look  out  for  —  " 

"  This  must  be  stopped  !  "  again  interrupted  Mr.  Loomey, 
arising  suddenly,  while  he  took  off  his  spectacles  and  laid  them 
down  angrily  on  the  desk  before  him. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped,"  said  the  chairman,  "  that  all  will  bear 
in  mind  the  solemnity  of  the  time  and  place ;  and  that  the 
wishes  of  Mr.  Loomey,  the  pastor  here,  may  be  regarded." 

"  Yes,"  continued  Father  Shaw,  "  so  far  as  they  are  in 
accord  with  what 's  right.  I  know  I  've  spoke  a  long  time, 
but  I  've  a  word  more.  I  don't  want  you  all  to  think  I  've  no 
respect  for  any  of  the  men  that  are  ministers.  I  've  seen  and 
known  ministers  I  've  liked  as  well  as  ever  I  liked  any  man ; 
they  had  been  to  college,  and  to  them  are  Prophet  schools, 
too,  but  they  feared  God  and  worked  righteousness ;  some- 
how they  had  n't  got  sp'iled,  and  they  warn't  plagued  any  for 
want  of  reverence  or  love,  that 's  sartin.  Xow,  this  I  mean 
just  as  much  as  I  mean  all  the  rest  I  've  said.  I  'm  a  man 
who  tries  to  tell  the  truth,  and  don't  want  to  smooth  anythin' 
over  with  plaster  for  the  sake  of  pleasin'  folks  in  power ; 
and,  when  I  think  I  see  the  sperit  of  Satan  manifested,  I 
shall  say  so,  let  it  hit  who  or  where  it  will.  As  one  said  in 
ancient  time,  '  I  am  old  and  gray-headed,  and  I  have  walked 
before  you  from  my  childhood  unto  this  day.  Behold,  here 
29* 


342  EDITH     HALE. 

I  am ;  witness  against  me  before  the  Lord,  and  before  his 
anointed.'  " 

He  sat  down,  somewhat  exhausted.  A  sensation  pervaded 
the  house ;  Mr.  Crabtree  seemed  stunned  in  the  very  height 
of  his  power.  But  before  he  had  time  to  recover  himself, 
or  certain  others  to  put  away  their  smiles,  Dr.  Humphrey, 
the  second  person  arraigned  in  the  accusation,  arose. 

"  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  I  think  I  need  say  nothing  in 
vindication  of  my  character,  as  I  am  well  known  to  a  majority 
of  those  present.  I  am  charged  with  irreverence  in  making 
comparison  between  a  minister  and  Shakspeare's  Bottom.  I 
make  no  retractions.  I  still  think  this  prescription  pretty 
nearly  hit  the  disease,  though  I  have  no  prospect  of  effecting 
a  cure.  I  was  the  principal  agent  in  the  difficulty  which 
sprang  up  at  the  meeting  about  which  so  much  has  been  said 
here,  as  the  minister  who  displeased  Mr.  Loomey  and  a  few 
others  would  not  have  entered  the  meeting  at  all  had  it  not 
been  for  my  urgent  invitation.  In  regard  to  this,  I  say  that, 
although  I  am  accused  of  irreverence,  I  have  a  great  respect 
for  good  ministers  of  other  denominations  of  Christians,  as 
well  as  my  own.  I  have  no  idea  that  heaven  is  a  small,  nar- 
row place,  just  large  enough  to  admit  the  good  of  my  own 
sect  only,  but  the  good  of  all  sects  under  the  sun.  I  hope 
I  am  not  uncharitable  when  I  say  that  my  opinion  of  any 
man  who  manifests  a  spirit  entirely  contrary  to  this  is  that 
he  is  not  possessed- of  the  Spirit  of  God.  I  have  been  read- 
ing of  late  —  since  so  much  has  been  said  hereabouts  of 
the  gentleman  of  the  cloven  feet  —  an  ancient  theological 


EDITH     HALE.  343 

book,  called  the  World  Bewitched,  which  endeavors  to  dis- 
prove the  inspired  account  of  the  influence  of  the  devil  over 
mankind.  It  was  written  by  Belthazar  Bccher  (observe  the 
surname  is  spelt  with  but  one  e),  a  minister  of  Amsterdam. 
But  neither  this  book,  nor  any  book,  can  make  me  deny  that 
the  devil  does  drop  in  upon  us  on  occasion  ;  sometimes  even 
into  the  best  places  as  well  as  the  worst,  in  which  he  is  pre- 
sumed to  be  most  frequently.  There  are  times  when  larger 
and  older  communities  seem  as  much  bewitched  as  Belthazar 
Becher  thought  the  whole  world  was." 

"  This  irreverence,"  now  spoke  Deacon  Dennis,  "  should 
not  be  suffered.  In  behalf  of  my  injured  pastor  and  this 
church,  I  call  the  speaker  to  order." 

"  It  is  quite  new  to  me,"  proceeded  the  doctor,  "  to  hear 
so  much  about  irreverence  ;  and  it  strikes  me  as  rather  a 
singular  note  of  warning  to  fall  upon  the  ears  of  those  who  are 
without  the  pale  of  the  Ilomish  Church.  The  Duke  of 
Wellington  once  wrote  to  a  man  in  a  precarious  position 
of  authority,  'The  less  you  claim,  the  more  you  will  have.' 
That  was  given  by  a  titled  man,  and  under  a  realm  of  crowns 
and  sceptres.  Think  you  it  is  less  applicable  to  a  people  in 
a  country  like  ours?  Now,  sirs,  especially  you  that  have 
summoned  this  council,  you  have  heard  what  I  have  to  say 
briefly, —  what  expiation  do  you  require  of  me  ?  If  I  should 
acknowledge  that  I  repented  of  any  act  I  have  done,  or  word 
I  have  said,  touching  which  this  council  has  been  called,  I 
should  deserve  to  be  condemned  to  wander  on  foot  over  the 
world  till  this  mortal  should  put  on  immortality." 


344  EDITH     HALE. 

Major  Oliver  directly  followed  with,  "  I  have  but  a  word 
to  say.  It  is  this :  I  am  charged  with  irreverence  in  com- 
paring a  reverend  divine  to  Shakspeare's  Snug.  If  the  coat 
fits,  let  it  be  put  on ;  and  I  remain  of  the  opinion  that  it  is 
a  pretty  snug  fit." 

The  three  accused  having  concluded,  the  visage  of  Mr. 
Loomey,  like  Nebuchadnezzar's  against  Shadrach,  Meshach, 
and  Abednego,  was  changed,  and  he  looked  about  him  with 
an  air,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  have  heard  for  yourselves ; 
judge  between  me  and  them." 

After  a  whispered  consultation  with  one  or  two  ministers, 
Mr.  Oabtree  announced  that  the  public  meeting  would  be 
adjourned  till  the  afternoon,  when  the  result  of  the  delib- 
erations of  the  council  would  be  made  known.  In  the  mean 
time  various  were  the  conjectures  as  to  what  would  be  the 
result,  and  many  preferences  and  opinions  as  to  what  it  should 
be  were  exchanged.  No  one  was  allowed  to  be  present  from 
the  church  of  "Waterbury  —  not  even  Mr.  Loomey;  so  all 
curiosity  had  to  pause  for  its  gratification  until  the  appointed 
time.  But  Zephaniah  Wilkins,  Mrs.  Witherell,  and  some 
others,  looked  complacently,  as  if  they  knew  more  about  how 
affairs  would  terminate  than  they  chose  to  tell. 

When  at  last  the  time  came,  the  members  of  the  council 
appeared,  and  the  report  was  read ;  it  was  most  unexpect- 
edly and  singularly  devoid  of  condemnation  of  the  accused 
party,  or  of  any  party,  recommending  the  greater  exercise 
of  mutual  forbearance  and  charity,  to  the  end  that  brotherly 
love  might  continue.  There  were,  indeed,  exhortations  ex- 


EDITH     HALE.  345 

pressed  that  the  members  of  that  church  might  bear  in  mind 
that  the  great  Head  of  the  church  had  given  some  to  be  pas- 
tors and  teachers,  for  the  perfecting  of  the  saints,  for  the 
•work  of  the  ministry,  for  the  edifying  of  the  body  of  Christ, 
and  that  such  shall  be  esteemed  very  highly  in  love  for  their 
work's  sake.  But  this  was  the  extent  of  the  implied  reproofs. 

Mr.  Loomey  betrayed  his  thorough  disappointment  at  once. 
Had  all  his  efforts  in  calling  that  council  been  in  vain  ?  Was  it 
possible,  after  what  there  had  been  said,  that  the  arbiters  could 
not  recommend  the  expulsion  of  these  refractory  members, 
unless  they  would  ask  forgiveness  before  the  congregation  ? 

To  let  the  matter  pass  in  that  way  was  impossible.  For 
a  half  an  hour  he  spoke  of  his  trials  with  great  bitterness, 
and  even  insinuated  that  the  council  had  been  actuated  by 
unworthy  motives  in  bringing  in  their  decision.  He  called 
upon  all  his  true  and  firm  friends  to  bear  witness  of  his 
persecutions.  Zephaniah  Wilkins  arose  to  speak,  but  Father 
Shaw  had  preceded  him. 

"  I  'm  in  favor  of  peace,"  he  said  ;  "  and,  from  what  this 
ere  council  has  brought  in,  I  know  they  are.  I  'd  no  idee 
they  would  show  so  much  Christian  charity  as  they  do ;  for 
now  I  '11  say  this  much  —  I  know  I  've  said  things  here, 
though  they  're  true,  yit  they  're  hard  to  be  swallered  down 
by  ministers  as  the  hottest  potater  that  was  ever  roasted.  I  'm 
willin'  to  go  on,  right  ahead,  and  not  look  back.  We  can't 
alter  a  thing  that 's  done ;  all  we  Ve  gut  to  do  is  to  look  out 
for  the  futur'.  I  Ve  nothin'  agin  anybody  here,  and  anybody 
is  a  plaguy  fool  that  '11  hold  on  to  anythin'  agin  me.  I  must 


346  EDITH     HALE. 

say  one  thing  more,  though,  ef  I  knew  I  was  goin'  to  give 
up  the  ghost  the  next  minute.  All  these  ere  things  makes  me 
think  an  amazin'  sight  of  when  Balak,  the  son  of  Zipper, 
King  of  Moab,  arose  and  warred  agin  Israel,  and  sent  and 
called  Balaam  to  come  and  cuss  the  people.  But  Balaam 
could  n't  do  nothin'  agin  the  Lord,  ef  he  did  whip  his  ass  so 
that  it  spoke  right  out.  '  How  shall  I  cuss  whom  God  hath 
not  cussed  ? '  he  said,  at  last,  when  he  found  how  't  was.  '  And 
Balak  said  unto  Balaam,  What  hast  thou  done  unto  me  ? 
I  took  thee  to  cuss  mine  enemies,  and  behold,  thou  hast 
blessed  them  altogether  ! '  It  says,  too,  that  Balak's  anger 
was  kindled  agin  Balaam,  and  he  smote  his  hands  together." 

Father  Shaw  resumed  his  seat,  amid  numerous  smiles.  Dr. 
Humphrey  and  Major  Oliver  both  expressed  their  hearty 
desire  for  future  union  among  the  members  of  the  church,  in 
a  few  explicit  and  friendly  words.  Several  of  the  clergymen 
also  made  brief  addresses,  in  a  very  conciliatory  spirit,  —  par- 
ticularly Mr.  Swinton,  who,  as  usual,  contrived  to  introduce 
some  fragrant  allusion  to  roses,  and  the  gentler  sex  who  were 
present. 

After  a  concluding  prayer,  which  dismissed  the  assembly, 
Father  Shaw  went  to  all  the  ministers  and  shook  hands  heart- 
ily, wishing  them  the  blessing  of  Israel's  God,  and  also  that 
they  would  all  go  to  his  house  and  have  a  supper. 

"  I  killed  my  fatted  calf  aforehand,"  he  said ;  "  and  I 
thought  ef  nobody  would  come  to  eat  it,  I  'd  be  the  prod- 
igal myself.  Ef  ye  go  to  makin'  scuses,  and  say  ye  can't 


EDITH     HALE.  347 

come,  I  shall  go  out  into  the  lanes  and  byways  and  call  in 
everybody  I  can  find." 

But  the  ministers  were  not  disposed  to  excuse  themselves, — 
at  least,  the  majority  of  them.  Notwithstanding  Mr.  Loomey 
received  a  particular  invitation  from  Father  Shaw,  he  took 
himself  off  to  his  own  place  as  solemnly  as  possible,  with 
Zephaniah  Wilkins  on  one  side  of  him,  and  Mrs. 'Witherell 
on  the  other.  Father  Shaw  extended  his  invitation  also  to 
Major  Oliver  and  Dr.  Humphrey,  and  the  two  deacons.  Dea- 
con Dennis  demurred  a  little  about  going;  but  the  thought 
of  all  the  ministers  who  would  be  present,  and  the  prospect 
of  the  good  cheer,  decided  him.  Deacon  Goodwin  compro- 
mised the  matter  by  supping  with  Father  Shaw,  and  visiting 
Mr.  Loomey  in  the  evening.  Dr.  Humphrey  was  called  away 
to  visit  a  patient,  but  Miss  Leah  prevailed  on  his  wife  to  be 
his  representative,  as  she  saw  that  the  vivacity  of  that  lady 
would  be  an  indispensable  assistance  to  her  in  the  entertain- 
ment of  so  many  guests. 

The  ministers  all  seemed  in  excellent  spirits.  Mr.  Crabtree 
fortunately  was  not  present ;  they  had,  therefore,  no  iceberg 
among  them.  Their  professional  dignity,  in  a  great  measure, 
was  laid  aside,  and  the  atmosphere  soon  became  thoroughly 
comfortable ;  for  nothing  has  a  more  pacifying  effect,  after 
discussion,  than  a  generous  feast. 

When  all  had  eaten,  Father  Shaw  brought  forward  a  small 
basket,  which  he  said  held  something  for  each  of  the  ministers 
to  carry  to  his  wife. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  "  you  've  been  gone  two  days ;  and 


348  EDITH     HALE. 

they  '11  be  lonesome  and  cross-like  without  ye,  by  the  time  ye 
git  home.  They  '11  say,  '  I  want  ter  know  ef  ye  had  to  stay 
so  long  for  that  old  Shaw's  sass  ?  I  hope  ye  turned  him  out 
of  the  church,  at  last.'  Now,  jest  take  these  ere,  with  my 
'  good  luck  '  to  'em." 

And  he  passed  around  the  basket,  which  was  found  to 
contain  bank-notes.  The  ministers  laughed  heartily  at  the 
pleasant  surprise,  and  expressed  their  thanks. 

"  Stop,"  said  Major  Oliver,  when  the  basket  was  exhausted 
of  its  contents ;  "  I  am  a  bachelor,  and  I  must  not  be  less 
chivalrous  to  the  ladies  than  Father  Shaw.  Here 's  a  bank- 
bill  of  a  respectable  denomination,  which  I  would  like  to 
have  changed  and  divided  equally." 

After  some  delay,  it  was  accomplished,  and  the  gifts  were 
pocketed  amid  new  expressions  of  gratitude. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

IN    WHICH   VARIOUS   MATTERS   ARE   DISCUSSED. 

EDITH  had  now  entered  upon  her  new  school-life.  In  the 
first  week  of  her  pupilage,  a  young  lady,  apparently  of  about 
her  own  age,  was  assigned  for  her  seat-mate.  This  young  lady 
did  not  settle  into  her  position  without  availing  herself  of  the 
common  school-girl  privilege  of  a  cool  and  careful  scrutiny  of 
her  companion.  She  then  opened  one  of  her  books  to  the  first 
blank  leaf,  to  search  for  her  name ;  but,  not  finding  it,  put 
the  direct  inquiry  of  Edith,  with  an  attempt  at  indifference. 
Receiving  the  desired  information,  she  rejoined  : 

"  I  am  Miss  Cybel  Crabtree,  and  my  father  is  the  minister 
of  the  first  church  in  Birhampton." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Edith,  with  new  interest ;  "  I  have  some 
knowledge  of  your  father." 

"  You  have  heard  him  preach  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  met  him  on  the  occasion  of  an  examination  of 
school-teachers." 

"  Did  you  ever  teach  school  in  Birhampton  ?  "  pursued  the 
young  lady,  coolly. 

"  I  was  engaged  to  teach  there ;  but,  on  being  examined, 
30 


350  EDITH     HALE. 

your  father  rejected  me,"  replied  Edith,  in  a  straightforward 
manner,  somewhat  puzzling  to  Miss  Cybel  Crabtree. 

"  I  thought  you  came  from  Boston.  One  of  the  teachers, 
who  could  not  remember  your  name,  told  me  that  was  your 
place  of  residence,"  said  Miss  Crabtree. 

"  My  home  is  in  the  city  at  present ;  but  I  formerly  resided 
in  a  town  adjoining  your  own,"  responded  Edith. 

"  How  is  that  ?  Did  your  father  remove  to  the  city  ?  " 
continued  Miss  Crabtree. 

"  My  parents  are  both  dead." 

"  Are  you  derived  from  a  high  family  ?  "  Miss  Cybel  was 
evidently  determined  to  ascertain  the  exact  position  of  her 
companion. 

"  I  am  derived  from  a  very  ancient  family,"  said  Edith, 
strongly  reminded  of  the  "  derivations"  of  the  Rev.  Hyliscus 
Crabtree ;  "  and,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  its  members  were  once 
unusually  high." 

"Where  did  they  come  from,  originally  ?"  pursued  Miss 
Cybel. 

"  From  the  place  to  which  they  all  returned,  —  the  dust  of 
the  earth.  The  first  of  the  family  resided  a  short  time  in 
Eden ;  but,  on  being  expelled  for  bad  conduct,  had  to  work 
for  a  living,  —  a  curse  which  they  entailed  on  all  their  pos- 
terity." 

At  this  Miss  Cybel  colored  slightly ;  but,  unwilling  to  lose 
her  aim,  after  a  pause,  she  resumed  her  interrogations  : 

"  From  the  fact  of  your  being  a  pupil  in  this  institution,  I 


EDITH     HALE.  351 

infer  that  your  parents  left  you  with  the  means  of  enjoying 
superior  privileges  ?  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  found  myself  in  poverty.  After  the 
death  of  my  father,  I  was  obliged  to  work  in  a  factory  as  a 
cotton-spinner,"  Edith  answered,  unflinchingly. 

It  was  not  her  habit,  nor  did  it  accord  with  her  sensitive 
nature,  to  allude  to  her  past  humiliations  and  afflictions  in  the 
presence  of  others ;  but  she  felt  now  that  she  was  questioned 
from  unworthy  motives,  and  she  had  spirit  enough  to  quench 
suck  curiosity  with  a  straightforward  honesty  which  she  knew 
would  be  effectual. 

Miss  Cybel  drew  her  tall  figure  up  loftily,  removed  her 
dress  as  far  as  possible  from  Edith,  and  carried  all  her  text- 
books to  the  furthest  end  of  the  desk.  She  troubled  Edith 
with  no  more  questions.  The  next  day  Miss  Cybel  Crabtree 
answered  to  her  name  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall. 

Miss  Crabtree's  father  had  taken  great  care  that  as  much  as 
possible  of  his  own  vast  knowledge,  derived  from  various 
schools,  should  be  crammed  into  his  daughter's  brain,  that  she 
might  bear  the  full  honors  of  the  family's  "  derivations."  She 
had  ambition,  —  not  ambition  which  resolves  to  achieve  for 
itself  a  success  based  upon  merit  alone,  but  one  which  expects 
distinction  as  a  right.  This  resulted  naturally  from  her 
education  and  associations. 

She  had  never  been  taught  that  broad  and  beautiful  prin- 
ciple of  love  for  others,  which  falls  from  a  mother's  lips  on  the 
heart  of  a  child  as  the  fresh  rain  of  heaven  upon  a  delicate 
young  plant.  There  was  no  genial  sweetness  gathered  within 


352  EDITII     HALE. 

her  heart,  like  honey-dew  in  the  petals  of  a  flower.  The  cold, 
icy-hearted  mother  had  no  sunny  side,  save  for  her  own.  Her 
children  were  her  idols.  Like  the  mother  of  Zebedee's  chil- 
dren, nothing  was  ever  too  much  or  too  good  for  them ;  and 
this  even  at  the  expense  of  the  dearest  interests  of  others. 
Upon  their  hearts  she  had  impressed  a  lesson  of  thorough 
selfishness,  with  the  frequent  parenthetical  reminder,  "  You 
are  minister's  children."  With  but  very  few  —  the  children 
of  the  first  families,  so  called  —  had  they  associated  at  all. 
When  one  of  her  daughters  married,  she  ever  afterwards,  in 
the  presence  of  others,  spoke  of  and  to  her  by  the  title  of 
Mrs. ;  which  would  not  have  been  noticeable,  had  she  not,  in 
addressing  other  young  married  ladies  of  her  parish,  omitted 
the  title.  But,  where  there  is  an  absence  of  character  that  is 
sufficient  to  retain  respect,  to  be  observant  of  titles  is  the  best 
thing  one  can  do. 

"  A  fool,  indeed,  has  great  need  of  a  title  ; 
It  teaches  men  to  call  him  count,  and  duke, 
And  to  forget  his  proper  name  of  fool." 

It  was,  therefore,  with  no  little  surprise  and  annoyance  that 
Miss  Cybel  Crabtree  observed  Edith  attracting  daily  more 
attention  than  herself.  To  Edith's  explanations  and  remarks 
the  teachers  attended  with  undisguised  respect,  and  so  came 
to  confer  with  her  in  preference  to  any  of  her  class-mates. 
Miss  Cybel  redoubled  her  efforts,  and  alluded  frequently  to 
her  father.  She  would  affect  to  entirely  disregard  Edith,  and, 
selecting  some  of  the  most  aristocratic  of  the  pupils,  make 


EDITH     HALE.  353 

merriment  over  her.  With  a  very  few  of  her  own  temper- 
ament this,  for  a  time,  obtained  favor ;  but  Edith's  universal 
kindness  of  heart  and  sweetness  of  manner  soon  established 
her  position  beyond  dispute.  As  Edith  made  no  parade  of 
her  newly  acquired  honor  and  prospective  wealth,  it  was  some 
time  before  Miss  Cybel  became  aware  of  her  mistake  in 
respect  to  her  real  position  in  the  world. 

During  the  subsequent  vacation  Edith  was  prevailed  upon 
by  Mr.  Raymond  and  Mary  to  accompany  them  occasionally 
•within  the  social  circle  to  which  Mary,  as  the  bride  of  one  of 
the  most  prominent  men,  had  already  been  introduced  and 
graciously  received.  On  one  of  these  occasions  they  attended 
a  soiree  at  the  house  of  a  lady  who  was  a  leader  in  society. 
She  attracted  the  literati  about  her ;  for  she  invariably  pur- 
chased all  their  books,  read  them  sufficiently  to  talk  volubly 
about  them,  and,  what  was  better,  praised  them  in  hearing  of 
the  authors  themselves.  Others,  who  made  no  pretensions  to 
authorship,  but  who  were  reckoned  intelligent  readers,  she 
bade  to  the  "  feast  of  reason  and  flow  of  soul." 

Edith  was  somewhat  awed  in  presence  of  so  many  distin- 
guished people;  and,  retiring  to  an  obscure  corner  of  tho 
drawing-room,  was  pleased  and  interested  in  silent  observa- 
tion. Mr.  Eaymond  had  taken  Mary  to  examine  a  rare  col- 
lection of  engravings,  and,  unperceived,  Edith  had  become 
separated  from  them.  She  had  not  sat  thus  many  minutes 
before  her  attention  was  arrested  by  the  appearance  of  Hugh 
Oliver.  He  was  standing  by  the  piano,  at  which  sat  a  young 
lady  turning  music  leaves  abstractedly,  while  her  attention 
30* 


354  EDITH     HALE. 

was  evidently  engrossed  by  him.  His  arms  were  folded  across 
his  breast,  and  he  leaned  negligently  against  a  pillar,  glancing 
from  his  partially  closed  eyes  upon  the  young  lady  with  whom 
he  was  conversing. 

"  It  is  no  marvel  he  is  chained  to  that  particular  spot," 
thought  Edith,  with  a  trembling,  foreboding  heart,  "  that 
young  lady  is  so  beautiful !  " 

Edith  gazed  almost  breathlessly  upon  her  delicately  moulded 
features;  the  perfect  distribution  of  color  upon  her  face,  like  a 
flush  of  sunset  upon  a  pure  white  cloud ;  her  long,  luxuriant 
hair,  that  swept  her  neck  and  bosom  in  curls ;  and  her  eyes, 
of  a  soft,  languishing  blue,  which  undisguisedly  looked  love 
upon  Oliver.  She  was  attired  with  elegance.  Her  slight, 
erect  figure  was  set  off  by  a  white  satin  bodice,  embroidered 
in  orange  colored  wreaths.  The  skirt  was  a  purple  velvet, 
studded  with  golden  bees  about  the  border.  She  arose  to 
reach  another  music-book,  and,  looking  coquettishly  under 
Oliver's  eyelids,  suffered  her  hand  to  rest  a  moment  upon  his 
arm,  while  she  murmured  a  few  words. 

At  this  juncture  Edith's  attention  was  diverted  by  the 
appearance  of  Mr.  Raymond,  who  had  returned  in  search  of 
her. 

"  We  missed  you  suddenly,"  he  said.  "  I  have  something 
in  the  next  room,  rare  and  beautiful,  to  show  you.  But,  what 
is  this  which  has  come  over  you,  all  at  once  ?  "  he  added,  in  a 
tone  of  alarm.  "  You  are  pale  !  Are  you  going  to  faint?  " 

"  No,  no  !  "  replied  Edith,  with  great  emotion ;  "  but,  tell 
me,  who  is  that  lady  at  the  piano  ?  " 


EDITH     HALE.  355 

"  That  is  Hada  Regleton,  your  cousin,"  replied  Mr.  Ray- 
mond ;  "  and  there  is  Hugh  Oliver  beside  her.  I  must  go 
and  speak  to  him." 

"  If  you  please,  first  lead  me  from  here,"  said  Edith. 

Notwithstanding  her  desire  to  escape,  Oliver's  eye  had 
fallen  upon  them,  and  in  that  moment  he  came  up.  He  soon 
placed  chairs  for  them,  with  the  evident  design  to  remain. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Raymond ;  "  Mrs.  Raymond  is 
awaiting  me.  If  you  will  entertain  Miss  Hale  while  I  am 
away,  it  will  be  a  favor." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Oliver,  smiling,  with  awakening  interest ; 
"  I  shall  be  the  debtor  myself." 

Usually  in  his  presence  Edith  was  embarrassed,  so  that  she 
seldom  appeared  with  her  natural  grace  of  manner ;  and  much 
more  now,  as  she  thought  of  Hada  Regleton. 

"  You  derive  interest  from  this  scene,  I  presume,"  observed 
Oliver,  familiarly.  "  No  one  can  fail  to  be  amused,  at  least, 
by  observing  such  a  peculiar  assemblage."  Edith  bowed 
assent. 

"  May  I  inquire  if  you  are  acquainted  with  any  of  these 
people  ?  "  he  continued.  Edith  replied  that  she  had  only  been 
presented  to  a  few  by  Mr.  Raymond. 

"  There,  by  the  chimney-piece,  is  the  author  of '  Cashmere, 
—  a  poem.'  A  nervous,  impassioned  man,  who  sees  every- 
thing, everybody  as  though  the  eyes  of  Argus  were  scat- 
tered about  him,  instead  of  on  the  tail  of  the  peacock." 

"  Not  the  character  I  should  associate  with  a  poet,"  re- 
joined Edith,  with  a  smile. 


356  EDITII     HALE. 

"  You  think,  I  suppose,  that  poets  should  be  melancholy, 
dreamy,  absent,  with  falling  hair,  upward-rolling  eyes,  and 
with  their  delicate  white  hands  resting  upon  their  hearts, 
beating  to  remarkably  fine  emotions  ?  Authors  seldom  cor- 
respond to  the  characters  which  their  readers  picture  of  them 
from  their  works.  There  is  scarcely  a  greater  mistake  than 
this,  as  you  will  learn  by  observation  of  these  persons  about 
us.  There  is  a  gentleman  who  is  conversing  with  that  knot 
of  ladies.  Observe  the  sparkle  of  his  eye,  the  keen  relish 
of  life  which  he  betrays  in  the  light  of  their  smile.  You 
would  now  think  him  one  who  would  be  a  charming  compan- 
ion, —  the  very  life  of  the  circle,  wherever  he  goes.  That  is 
the  author  of  '  The  Lament  of  the  Soul.' " 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  returned  Edith ;  "  when  he  strings  dis- 
mal, die-away  verses  upon  a  thread  of  hopeless  melancholy, 
which  one  would  conclude  he  was  ultimately  designing  to  wind 
about  his  own  neck,  in  the  character  of  a  suicide !  " 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Oliver,  looking  upon  Edith  with  the  old  look 
of  admiration  ;  "  and  here  is  a  lady  in  a  muslin  dress,  who 
reminds  me  of  Arachne,  who  wove  a  web  representing  the 
sins  of  Jupiter  so  skilfully,  that  Pallas  first  struck  her  on 
the  head  with  her  shuttle,  and  afterward  changed  her  into 
a  spider.  The  most  prominent  characteristic  of  this  authoress 
is  the  art  of  individualizing ;  and  she  is  scarcely  less  skilful 
than  Arachne  in  weaving  out  the  sins  of  people  into  her 
works." 

"  Does  she,  also,  share  the  fate  of  the  goddess  ?  "  inquired 
Edith. 


EDITH     HALE.  357 

"  I  rather  think  she  carries  an  aching  head,  occasionally, 
from  the  blows  of  those  whom  she  angers.  She  has,  un- 
doubtedly, done  much  good ;  but,  like  all  plain  dealers,  has 
few  friends.  Just  beyond,  you  observe  a  lady  who  is  sur- 
rounded by  glad  faces,  and  received  at  every  turn  with  smiles 
and  caresses  ;  at  least,  by  all  those  that  do  not  envy  her  too 
much  to  show  their  appreciation.  Especially  is  she  admired 
by  the  gentlemen." 

"  She  is  one  of  the  simplest-dressed  here  present,  and  cer- 
tainly is  not  beautiful,"  said  Edith. 

"  Xo ;  but  she  has  a  mind  adorned  with  brilliancy  and 
worth,  like  the  borders  of  the  pagoda  of  the  Burmese  Rath, 
which  are  studded  with  amethysts,  emeralds,  diamonds,  rubies, 
tourmalines,  —  and  I  forget  the  half,  —  with  drops  of  amber 
and  crystal  interspersed.  She  has  been  delving  in  dark  mines 
for  these  precious  gems  ;  and  when,  occasionally,  as  now,  she 
brings  them  forth  to  the  light  of  the  world,  she  dazzles  and 
attracts  more  than  all  the  gayly  and  expensively  dressed 
ladies  about  here." 

"  I  thought  the  gentlemen  were  attracted  by  the  latter  class," 
remarked  Edith. 

"  Not  sensible  men,"  said  Oliver. 

"  It  is  worth  the  while,  then,  for  ladies  to  make  an  effort  to 
know  something  beside  how  to  be  fashionable  ?  " 

"  Which  you  had  begun  to  doubt.  I,  for  one,  like  women 
of  sense,  who  will  talk,  dress,  and  act  sensibly,  provided  they 
are  not  decidedly  blue" 

"  There  would  be  more  women  of  this  class,"  said  Edith, 


358  EDITH     HALE. 

"were  it  not  the  fault  of  gentlemen,  who  generally  are 
beguiled  with  glitter." 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  ladies  are  scarcely  less  beguiled,  as  we 
can  prove  by  observing  how  closely  and  fondly  is  that  gentle- 
man in  military  dress  surrounded.  And  here,  very  near  us, 
is  a  kind  of  amateur  author,  who  appears  under  a  mantle 
which  cost,  at  least,  a  thousand  dollars ;  -he  complains  of  ill- 
health,  and  calls  that  appendage  a  necessity.  The  jewelry 
upon  his  person  would  count  up  to  ten  thousand  dollars,  I  pre- 
sume ;  perhaps  more,  for  he  wears  diamonds.  The  ladies 
admire  him  very  much,  as  you  can  see  here,  on  this  occasion." 

"  What  is  the  character  of  his  writings?  I  have  no  slight 
curiosity  to  know,"  said  Edith. 

"  Decidedly  opposed  to  the  vanities  and  pride  of  life.  He 
writes  solemnly  against  extravagance,  and  in  favor  of  self- 
denial  ;  and  by  those  who  know  nothing  of  him  personally  is 
reckoned  a  great  philosopher  —  almost  a  cynic." 

At  this  moment  they  were  interrupted  by  a  gentleman, 
who  came  up,  and,  bowing  once  and  twice  very  low,  said  to 
Oliver : 

"  I  have  the  honor  of  wishing  you  a  very  good-evening  — 
a  charming  evening  in  such  intrinsic  society  as  you  appear  to 
enjoy  yourself  at  present." 

"  The  time  passes  pleasantly,"  said  Oliver. 

"  Yes  ;  we  find  an  homogeneous  assembly  of  intellects  of 
the  first  water,  and  of  the  highest  sublime  altitude,  on  this 
occasion  in  multijugous  frequency.  To  contemplate  all  these 
people  exceeds  the  mysteries  of  unranoscopy." 


EDITH     HALE.  359 

On  being  presented  to  Edith,  he  said  :  "  I  hope,  my  dear 
mademoiselle,  you  are  not  defatigated  with  all  the  varied  bril- 
liancy of  these  noctilucous  people." 

Edith  opened  her  large  eyes  a  little  wider,  but  did  not 
attempt  to  reply. 

"  Directly  after  these  present  scenes  were  inchoate,"  con- 
tinued the  gentleman  to  Oliver,  "  I  made  an  earnest  endeavor 
to  withdraw  myself;  but  I  have  almost  become  oblivious  of 
my  original  design.  Will  you  do  me  the  great  favor  to 
inform  me  the  time?  Unfortunately,  I  left  my  horologe 
behind  me." 

Oliver  complied,  with  as  good  a  grace  as  possible. 

"  Indeed  !  so  late,  my  dear  sir  !  "  he  rejoined.  "  I  must 
defalcate  myself  immediately,"  and,  bowing  low  again,  walked 
away,  carrying  himself  so  singularly  erect,  and  his  head  so 
much  bent  backward,  he  seemed  to  have  been  made  for  the 
express  purpose  of  enjoying  "  the  mysteries  of  uranoscopy." 

"  That  man,"  said  Oliver,  "  is  easily  made  out.  To  speak 
in  his  own  vein,  his  multiloguence  consists  of  sesquipedalia 
verla  —  words  a  foot  and  a  half  long." 

"  And  of  equally  '  sublime  altitude,'  "  said  Edith. 

"  There  is  an  authoress,"  said  Oliver,  indicating  a  lady  of 
middle  age,  with  a  face  of  unusual  interest,  though  devoid  of 
beauty,  "  who  is  not  in.  quite  so  much  haste  as  the  personage 
whom  we  have  just  seen.  She  never  hurries.  She  is  writing 
a  work  upon  which  she  has  labored  carefully  for  six  consecu- 
tive years ;  and  she  told  me,  a  day  or  two  since,  it  would  not 
be  ready  for  the  press  in  at  least  two  years  more." 


360  EDITH     HALE. 

"  She  deserves  immortality  for  her  patience,"  said  Edith. 

"  She  chooses  the  right  course  to  win  it,"  observed  Oliver  ; 
"  seized  with  the  cacoethes  scribendi,  these  writers  who  hurry 
through  their  books,  to  keep  pace  with  the  mad  spirit  of  the 
age,  fail  of  doing  any  degree  of  justice  to  themselves.  Not 
less  true  at  this  day  are  the  words  of  Cervantes :  '  There  are 
some  who  compose  and  cast  off  books  as  if  they  were  toss- 
ing up  a  dish  of  pancakes.'  The  greatest  works,  of  all  ages, 
which  have  attained  immortal  fame,  were  the  ripe  result  of 
long  thought  and  patient  execution.  Says  Longfellow,  that 
most  polished  master  of  his  art :  '  The  secret  studies  of  an 
author  are  the  sunken  piers  upon  which  he  is  to  rest  the 
bridge  of  his  fame,  spanning  the  waters  of  oblivion.' " 

"  Without  these,"  said  Edith,  "  books  are  like  the  blos- 
soms of  the  coffee-tree,  which  last  only  twenty-four  hours." 

"  And  with  these,"  continued  Oliver,  "  a  single  book  may 
be  composed  of  numerous  beauties,  each  of  which  is  sufficient 
to  be  expanded  into  a  book  of  itself,  like  the  '  browneae  '  of 
the  tropics,  which  bear  several  hundred  beautiful  flowers  in  a 
single  thyrsus." 

A  coarse,  grum  voice,  at  this  juncture,  addressing  Oliver, 
caused  Edith  to  start,  and  look  about  her  with  a  new  interest. 
Oliver  arose,  addressed  the  lady  to  whom  the  voice  belonged, 
and  then  announced  "  Mrs.  Regleton  "  to  Edith.  The  lady, 
being  very  near-sighted,  spoke  to  Edith  without  recognition  ; 
but  the  next  moment  a  new  thought  evidently  arrested  her 
memory. 


ED  I  I  II     II  ALE.  361 

"  What  did  you  give  as  the  lady's  name  ?  "  she  inquired 
of  Oliver,  approaching  a  little  nearer  to  Edith. 

It  was  repeated,  with  the  additional  information  that  sho 
was  a  relative  of  JMr.  Raymond,  and  a  resident  in  his  family. 

Mrs.  Kegleton  flushed  deeply,  so  that  the  tip  of  her  nose 
radiated  crimson  streaks  in  all  directions  over  her  face.  She 
made  some  slight  observation  to  Oliver,  and  turned  away. 
Oliver  saw  that  Edith  was  much  moved  by  this  encounter ; 
but,  too  considerate  to  venture  upon  his  friendship  so  far  as  to 
make  particular  inquiries,  merely  asked  if  Mrs.  Regleton  were 
an  acquaintance. 

"  She  is  not,"  replied  Edith,  with  a  tremulous  tone ;  "  but 
I  have  met  her  before." 

Directly  after,  she  observed  Mrs.  Regleton  meet  her  daugh- 
ter, and,  after  a  brief  communication  between  them,  Hada 
turned  and  gazed  searchingly  upon  Edith.  Her  eye  burned 
with  anger  upon  her,  as  she  saw  her  in  company  with  Hugh 
Oliver.  With  a  scornful  toss  of  the  head  she  moved  across 
the  room  in  their  direction.  But  Edith,  making  some  slight 
apology  to  Oliver,  who  was  not  an  inattentive  observer  of  this 
scene,  was  gone  before  Hada  had  joined  him. 

"  Hugh  Oliver  is  conversational  to-night,  is  he  not  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Raymond,  as  Edith  came  to  him. 

"  I  should  infer  so,"  replied  Edith. 

"  He  is  in  one  of  his  genial  moods,  then ;  sometimes  he 
talks  only  in  monosyllables." 

"  Very  gentlemanly,  that,"  rejoined  Edith. 

"  0,  we  never  expect  lions  to  be  like  other  animals.  You 
31 


362  EDITH     HALE. 

must  go  to  the  dandy,  brainless  and  sprightly,  for  your 
exquisite." 

"  I  must  disagree  with  you,  now,"  said  Edith.  "  A  true, 
large-souled  gentleman,  should  rather  be  compared  to " 

"  Giraffes  ?  "  interrupted  Mr.  Raymond,  with  a  provoking 
smile ;  "  who  stand  so  loftily  and  statuesque,  we  can  but  just 
sec  them  looking  down  coolly  upon  us  ;  and,  but  for  a  slight 
movement  about  their  mouths,  we  should  mistake  them  for 
stuffed  models." 

"  That  represents  no  real  gentleman,"  said  Edith. 

"  The  elephant,  then  ?  Because  he  is  a  most  humble  servant, 
—  to  the  ladies  in  particular,  willingly  loaning  his  back  for 
a  vehicle  for  their  convenience  ;  and  he  is,  also,  indisputably 
'  large-soled.' " 

Shortly  after  this,  the  party  prepared  to  leave.  Mr.  Ray- 
mond and  Mary  being  detained  by  the  hostess  a  moment, 
Edith  waited  in  the  ante-room.  A  familiar  voice  at  once  fell 
upon  her  ear.  She  turned,  and  saw  Oliver  in  conversation 
•with  Hada  Regleton,  who  was  evidently  about  leaving,  also. 
She  held  her  velvet  cap,  and  trifled  abstractedly  with  it,  as 
she  spoke  with  great  spirit.  Uuperceived  herself,  Edith  could 
scarcely  fail  to  hear  their  words. 

"  Is  your  informant  one  in  whom  you  should  have  confi- 
dence ?  "  asked  Oliver. 

"  Certainly.  She  is  one  of  my  own  maids,  and  has  for- 
merly lived  in  Waterbury,  —  the  same  place  from  which  this 
girl  came.  She  told  me  all  these  things  which  I  have  told 


EDITH     HALE.  363 

you ;  and  she  has  seen  her  working  in  a  factory  with  her 
own  eyes." 

Edith  now  turned  very  pale ;  a  pain  swiftly  coursed  through 
her  heart ;  her  lips  were  parted  with  a  breathless  interest. 

"  And,  what  is  more,"  continued  Hada,  "  this  Edith  Hale 
has  been  disappointed  in  love,  —  actually  slighted." 

"  How  know  you  that,  Miss  Regleton  ? "  said  Oliver, 
sternly. 

"  My  maid  told  me  all  about  it.  She  was  presumptuous 
enough  to  fall  in  love  with  a  young  student,  or  minister,  of 
some  sort,  who  spoke  to  her  now  and  then.  The  first  she 
knew  he  had  married  a  splendid  woman  of  fortune ;  and,  as  a 
kind  of  salvo  to  his  conscience,  he  got  her  a  school  some- 
where to  teach,  to  keep  her  off  the  almshouse,  or  the  lunatic 
hospital." 

Edith  started  forward  with  the  purpose  of  speaking  for 
herself;  but  Mr.  Raymond  came  that  instant. 

"  Come,  Edith,  we  will  go  now,"  he  said,  taking  her  arm 
within  his  own. 

She  stood  motionless,  as  if  she  had  suddenly  been  stricken 
into  stone.  Mr.  Raymond  looked  upon  her  inquiringly ;  but 
her  face  was  already  turned  away.  She  saw  her  cousin 
continue  her  relation,  with  a  curve  of  her  delicate  lip,  and  a 
toss  of  her  head,  till  the  ringlets  ran  like  serpents  over  her 
bosom.  Her  cloak,  of  delicate  swan's  down,  which  she  had 
just  thrown  on,  she  had  suffered  to  fall  from  her  shoulders, 
and  she  winsomely  asked  Oliver's  assistance.  Edith  looked 
no  more. 


364  EDITH     HALE. 

"  I  am  quite  ready,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Raymond,  with  a 
strong  effort  suppressing  her  emotion. 

A  few  days  after,  Hugh  Oliver  called  at  Mr.  Raymond's 
especially  to  see  Edith.  But  she  excused  herself.  Both  Mr. 
Raymond  and  Mary  insisted  in  vain. 

"  I  have  good  reason,"  she  said,  "  and  I  am  decided." 

He  called  again,  and  yet  other  times  ;  but  she  continued  to 
deny  herself,  until  he  ceased  to  come  altogether. 

All  this  caused  Edith  many  a  pang ;  and  often  in  solitude 
she  wept  bitterly.  Her  only  consolation  was,  that  she  was 
saving  herself  from  a  greater  infliction  ultimately. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

RETURN   TO    WATERBUKY. 

EDITH  was  sitting  with  Mary,  one  afternoon  at  the  close  of 
summer,  engaged  upon  some  sewing,  which  she  had  laid  aside 
for  the  leisure  hours  of  this  vacation,  and  conversing  upon 
topics  of  mutual  interest,  when  one  of  the  servants  appeared 
with  a  letter  for  his  mistress.  On  opening  it,  Mary  found 
the  signature  to  be  that  of  her  mother.  But,  as  her  mother 
had  never  in  her  life  written  to  her  before,  and  as  she  was 
one  of  those  women  who  seldom  write  anything,  this  letter 
was  wholly  a  novelty  to  her.  She  devoted  a  long  time  to  its 
reading;  but,  finally  arousing,  as  from  a  dream,  she  read 
aloud  to  Edith,  for  she  had  so  long  habituated  herself  to 
seek  her  confidence,  she  could  not  keep  silence  now.  The 
following  is  the  substance  of  the  letter : 

"  MY  DEAREST  CHILD  :  I  suppose  you  are  just  as  happy  as 

you  can  be  in  your  new  home ;  but  you  must  not  forget  your 

dear  sisters,  who  think  of  you  often,  and  say  a  great  deal 

about  you.     Celesta,  dear,  poor  child !  is  very  unhappy.    She 

81* 


366  EDITH     HALE. 

is  now  at  home  with  her  baby.  His  name  is  Frederick  Cler- 
mont  Urban  Clare,  and  he  has  got  three  teeth.  Celesta  named 
him  after  people  she  got  out  of  novels.  His  father  calls  him 
Micah  ;  but  he  is  a  brutish  man,  and  turns  out  not  to  agree 
with  Celesta  in  anything.  He  burnt  every  novel  she  had, 
before  they  had  been  married  two  months.  How  strange 
things  go  in  this  world !  Now,  how  well  qualified  Celesta  is 
for  your  place ;  for  she  knows  all  about  high  life,  and  likes 
to  associate  with  genteel  people  so  well ;  while  you  would 
have  just  suited  her  husband.  But  things  always  turn  out 
wrong  in  this  sinful  state  below.  Celesta  is  appreciated  by 
some  people,  though ;  for  a  young  doctor,  over  where  she 
lives,  makes  a  great  deal  of  her,  and  has  been  to  visit  her 
several  times  since  she  came  home.  She  is  n't  very  well,  and 
he  prescribes  for  her.  He  is  an  elegant  man,  and  has  such  a 
tender  sympathy  for  her,  that  he  has  carried  her  to  ride  sev- 
eral times.  She  says  now,  since  she  sees  how  much  she  is 
thought  of,  that  she  is  sorry  she  ever  saw  her  husband. 

"  Mr.  Skerry  keeps  putting  off  to  marry  Claudine,  and,  all 
we  can  do,  we  can't  fetch  him  to  the  point.  It  mortifies  her 
dreadfully;  for  all  her  young  friends  are  marrying,  these  days. 
Alitha  Dennis  was  married  last  week  to  Mr.  Squiers,  the 
lawyer,  here.  Mr.  Loomey  married  them  ;  but  he  is  so  spirit- 
ual, he  objects  to  marrying  people  very  much.  I  heard  he 
talked  with  Deacon  Dennis  a  good  while  against  letting  his 
children  marry ;  and  he  preached  last  Sunday  upon  this  text : 
'  I  say,  therefore,  to  the  unmarried  and  widows,  it  is  good 
for  them  if  they  abide  even  as  I.' 


EDITH     HALE.  367 

"  For  my  part,  I  am  always  glad  -when  I  see  a  girl  well 
married.  And  this  makes  me  think  of  Maria  Weston.  I 
suppose  you  have  n't  heard  about  her.  It  is  very  shocking  to 
think  how  she  has  turned  out.  After  her  father  died,  last 
year,  she  hadn't  nobody  to  look  after  her;  and  she's  been 
made  so  much  of  by  some  of  our  first  people,  it  ruined  her. 
The  folks  where  she  boarded  have  turned  her  away,  and  no- 
body in  all  the  place  would  take'  her  in  but  old  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Linn.  How  they  can  have  her  there,  I  don't  know.  No  one 
knows  who  her  seducer  is. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  before,  about  Claudinc,  that  I  'm  sorry 
now  she  used  Solomon  Acre  as  she  did.  We  hear  lately,  in 
the  place  where  he  went  to  off  West,  he  's  doing  great  things. 
He 's  bought  a  lot  of  land,  and  speculated  on  it,  so  he  's  made 
a  fortune.  To  think  how  she  might  have  had  him,  and  all 
his  money,  just  as  easy  as  nothing  !  I  tell  her  to  turn  off  Mr. 
Skerry  ;  but  she  won't,  because,  she  says,  she  loves  him.  But 
I  should  think  she  had  seen  enough  of  such  love  in  Celesta. 
Julia  has  gone  with  Sarah  Dennis  to  school,  nt  Violet  Vale 
Seminary.  It  takes  a  sight  of  money  to  get  her  along  there, 
and  she  teases  for  more  in  almost  every  letter.  The  worst  of 
it  is,  your  father  is  in  a  dreadful  state  in  his  business,  though 
he  would  n't  like  to  have  me  tell  you.  I  've  been  thinking  of 
writing  you  this  long,  long  time ;  but  now  I  felt  as  though 
I  could  n't  put  it  off  any  longer.  He 's  driven  so  hard  for 
money,  he  says  he  must  wind  up  soon.  I  'm  sure  I  have  alwa}'s 
been  just  as  economical  as  I  could  be,  and  so  have  the  girls. 
I  know  it  cost  a  great  deal  for  your  sickness  last  year;  so,  if 


d68  EDITH     II  A  L  K  . 

you  could  only  persuade  your  husband  to  help  your  father 
now,  it  would  be  no  more  than  right,  certainly.  And  I  think 
we  lost  a  good  deal  by  your  father  doing  that  business  for  old 
Mr.  Raymond.  I  never  heard  him  say  so,  to  be  sure  ;  but, 
from  that  time,  he  has  seemed  very  much  pinched.  If  your 
husband  gives  you  any  money  to  spend,  you  had  better  save  it 
to  send  to  Julia  or  Celesta  ;  for  they  both  need  a  great  many 
things  which  their  father  can't  get  them.  You  have  a  sense 
of  duty,  I  know ;  so  I  am  satisfied  that  my  advice  will  not  be 
lost  upon  you.  I  hope  you  will  ever  use  your  husband  so  that 
he  will  not  get  out  with  you,  and  I  dare  say  we  shall  all  like 
him  very  much.  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  Celesta 
to  go  and  spend  several  months  with  you ;  for  you  know  you 
were  always  a  favorite  sister  of  hers.  And  we  shall  all  come 
just  as  soon  as  it  is  convenient.  *  *  *." 

When  Mary  concluded,  she  saw  Edith  in  tears ;  for  the 
intelligence  concerning  Maria  Weston  had  fallen  heavily 
upon  her. 

"  Poor  Maria!"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  always  feared  this.  0, 
that  I  had  warned  her  more  frequently  and  earnestly  than  I 
did  !  I  must  go  and  see  her  within  this  week,  before  the  com- 
mencement of  next  term,  or  I  shall  always  reproach  myself.'' 

"  Spoken  like  yourself,  dear  Edith,"  said  Mary.  "  It  is 
not  too  late  for  you,  who  have  a  strong  influence  over  her,  to 
do  her  great  good.  But  what  do  you  think  of  this  letter 
altogether  ?  "  she  added. 

"  It  is  a  curious  olla  podrida.    Perhaps  I  should  not  speak 


EDITH     HALE.  389 

with  so  much  freedom ;  but  I  must  tell  what  I  think,  if  I 
speak  at  all,  in  reply  to  your  question." 

"  It  strikes  me  somewhat  oddly  to  read  these  friendly  words 
from  my  mother  for  the  first  time  in  my  life." 

"  It  is  nothing  remarkable  that  your  family  should  be 
friendly  now.  Don't  you  remember  how  it  was  with  Job  ?  " 

Edith  took  the  Bible  from  the  etagere  beside  her,  and, 
turning  to  the  place  to  which  she  had  alluded,  read  aloud : 
"  '  The  Lord  gave  Job  twice  as  much  as  before.  Then  camo 
there  unto  him  all  his  brethren,  and  all  his  sisters,  and  all 
they  that  had  been  of  his  acquaintance  before,  and  did  eat 
bread  within  his  house,'  etc.  However,  it  is  wise  to  think  as 
kindly  of  people  as  we  can,  notwithstanding  the  past ;  and  to 
impute  to  every  one  the  purest  of  motives,  so  long  as  by  thus 
doing  we  may  do  more  good  than  evil." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary ;  "  few  things  are  more  ridiculous  than 
when  one  is  in  an  improved  condition,  to  conclude  that  the 
proffered  friendship  of  people  results  from  motives  of  self- 
interest,  or  that  those  who  stand  aloof  are  brooding  over 
their  envy." 

As  Mary  again  read  that  portion  of  the  letter  which  re- 
ferred to  her  father's  embarrassments,  she  was  deeply  affected 
in  his  behalf,  and  exclaimed, 

"  If  it  be  possible  that  I  can  be  instrumental  in  his  assist- 
ance, I  shall  only  be  too  happy  that  all  the  predictions 
concerning  me  have  not  proved  true." 


370  EDITH     IIALE. 

She  lost  no  time  in  interceding  with  Mr.  Raymond,  "whose 
heart  was  by  no  means  impervious  to  her  plea. 

"  We  will  go  immediately  and  see  to  these  matters  our- 
selves," he  said. 

Mr.  Raymond  had  endeavored  to  persuade  Mary  to  accom- 
pany him  to  a  fashionable  watering-place,  and  remain  during 
the  warm  season ;  but  they  had  deferred  the  plan  for  the 
future,  week  after  week,  in  anticipation  of  Edith's  vacation, 
when  they  might  have  the  increased  pleasure  of  her  com- 
panionship. But,  when  that  time  had  come,  both  Mary  and 
Edith  were  too  happy  in  the  enjoyment  of  each  other's 
society,  without  thinking  of  a  more  fashionable  means  of 
pleasure.  Now,  therefore,  the  prospect  of  a  short  excursion 
into  the  country  was  regarded  by  them  as  a  means  of  peculiar 
delight. 

On  the  following  day,  they  left  home  for  Waterbury.  Mr. 
Raymond  preferred  his  own  travelling  carriage  to  a  public 
conveyance  ;  and  early  in  the  morning  they  rode  into  the  open 
country,  while  yet  the  dew  bathed  all  the  earth  with  freshness. 
Before  they  were  aware,  a  view  of  the  village  of  their  destina- 
tion, between  the  trees,  broke  on  their  sight. 

The  morning  had  grown  into  a  golden  day,  —  not  brazen 
and  oppressive,  but  serene  and  beautiful.  The  quietude  of 
the  country  made  it  like  a  dream  of  heaven. 

Edith  and  Mary  gradually  fell  into  silence,  with  the  sight 
of  old,  familiar  scenes  of  home  again.  Many  sad  and  dark- 
ened memories  of  the  past  now  brooded  heavily  over  their 
hearts ;  and  the  present  seemed  suddenly  to  have  been  trans- 


EDITH     HALE.  371 

ferred  to  some  dim,  distant  future.  The  phantoms  of  the 
olden  time  held  their  souls  in  awe. 

The  clock  upon  the  Waterbury  church  repeated  its  twelfth 
stroke  as  they  turned  upon  the  main  street,  and  with  those 
world-calling  sounds,  so  important  in  the  country,  Edith  and 
Mary  awoke,  as  from  a  dream,  to  the  spectacle  of  people 
leaving  their  places  of  business,  and  little,  glad-hearted 
children  hurrying  home  to  their  dinners  from  the  deserted 
school-room. 

"  How  natural  this  all  seems  !  "  exclaimed  Edith ;  "  and 
yet,  in  some  sense,  it  has  grown  unfamiliar ;  for,  in  the  single 
year  of  my  absence,  my  heart  has  received  so  many  new 
impressions,  the  lines  of  the  past  look  not  as  they  used  to." 

"  Nor  will  they  ever  again,"  said  Mr.  Raymond  ;  "  those 
lines  are  broken  or  crossed  by  others,  more  prominent  to  the 
mind's  eye  than  those  which  are  beneath ;  and  the  web  of 
life,  in  which  are  woven  new  and  more  tangled  threads  every 
year,  no  art  can  restore  to  its  original  simplicity." 

It  was  evening  before  Edith  started  for  the  house  of  Mr. 
Linn,  for  she  knew  that  she  could  not  meet  Maria  at  an 
earlier  time,  on  account  of  her  labor  in  the  factory.  As  she 
approached  the  old,  familiar  spot,  a  chill  struck  across  her 
heart,  which  held  her  almost  breathless.  She  paused  a  few 
moments,  and  sat  down  upon  a  large  rock  by  the  side  of  the 
lane  to  compose  herself.  The  moon  had  just  risen  above  the 
strip  of  wood  that  skirted  the  meadow  beyond  the  house, 
defining  the  outlines  of  the  tree-tops  distinctly  upon  the  sky. 
It  seemed  to  glance  down  upon  the  old  place  with  solemn 


372  EDITU     1IALJ-3. 

cognizance,  casting  all  about  it  a  soft  and  tranquil  light,  as 
though  it  were  holy  ground.  But  even  then,  unknown  unto 
its  aged  keepers,  who  for  so  many  years  had  lived  by  prayer 
and  faith,  a  serpent  in  human  form  lurked  among  the  dark, 
spectral  shadows  of  the  old  trees  which  stood  just  behind  the 
house.  None  knew  it  save  his  victim,  whom  he  had  long  since 
wiled  within  his  fatal  coils. 

With  a  loving  eye  Edith  marked  the  brown  well-sweep 
before  the  side-door,  to  which  led  out  the  path  of  broad, 
even  stones,  rimmed  thickly  with  moss  and  grass,  where  she 
had  trodden  so  many  times  in  bygone  days,  and  wondered 
if  the  silver  resonance  of  a  laugh  would  come  up  from  the 
crystal  depths  as  musically  as  then.  There,  too,  were  the 
bee-hives  under  the  apple-trees ;  and,  a  little  further  on,  she 
could  faintly  discern  the  garden-patch  whither  she  had  so 
often  gone  with  old  Mrs.  Linn  to  assist  her  in  the  weeding 
of  the  long,  boarded  beds  of  balm,  fever-few,  sage,  and  a  great 
many  other  useful  herbs,  as  well  as  those  in  which  grew  the 
pansies,  pinks,  and  holly-hocks.  An  old  rock,  on  which  she 
had  cultivated  some  houseleeks  and  a  nasturtion,  she  could  see 
standing  solemnly  under  the  face  of  the  moon.  As  she 
mused,  an  evening  breeze  swayed  the  old  trees,  and  thridded 
the  leaves  of  the  columbine  which  grew  beside,  and  over  the 
door,  even  to  the  low  roof,  till  they  trembled  and  whispered 
together.  It  swung  also  the  old  gate  opening  into  the  meadow, 
which  stood  ajar,  so  that  it  creaked  hoarsely. 

At  this  juncture,  she  perceived  two  figures  emerge  from 
the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and  slowly,  almost  stealthily,  advance 


EDITH     HALE.  373 

up  the  lane  towards  where  she  was  sitting.  She  heard  the 
sound  of  their  voices,  as  they  spoke  in  a  suppressed  tone. 
One  of  the  figures,  whom  by  his  voice  she  distinguished  as  a 
man,  was  evidently  urging  the  other  to  accompany  him,  con- 
trary to  inclination.  She  heard  a  sad,  low  voice  in  reply, 
which  she  at  once  recognized.  It  was  Maria  ;  but  her  com- 
panion she  could  not  identify,  for  he  wore  a  hat  with  a  wide, 
slouched  brim,  which  entirely  concealed  his  face ;  and,  not- 
withstanding the  season,  his  person  was  shrouded  in  a  dark 
cloak,  which  well-nigh  swept  the  ground. 

"  If  we  go  to  the  cemetery,  we  can  talk  together  there, 
and  be  certain  no  one  will  overhear  us,"  said  the  deeper 
voice.  , 

Edith  started  involuntarily  from  the  shadow  in  which  she 
sat,  as  they  were  about  to  pass,  and  outstretched  her  hand  to 
Maria.  Her  face  was  turned  to  the  full  light  of  the  moon, 
and  Maria  knew  her  at  once. 

"  Can  this  be  you,  Miss  Edith  ?  "  she  cried,  sinking  upon 
her  knees  before  her,  and  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Yes,  Maria,"  said  Edith ;  "  go  with  me  back  to  the 
house,  will  you  not  ?  I  have  come  on  purpose  to  sec  you." 

She  looked  about,  to  confront  her  companion  ;  but  he  had 
walked  on  swiftly,  and,  in  a  moment  more,  with  a  single  bound 
had  cleared  the  wall  by  the  way,  and  was  proceeding  hurriedly 
in  a  direction  away  from  the  village. 

"  Did  you  see  him,  so  as  to  know  who  it  was  ? "  asked 
Maria,  anxiously. 

"  No,"  said  Edith. 
82 


"  374  EDITH    HALE. 

"  Heaven  be  praised  !  My  disgrace  is  nothing  to  what  his 
would  be,"  rejoined  Maria. 

Edith  drew  Maria's  arm  within  her  own,  and  led  her  to 
the  house ;  for  she  was  so  overcome  she  was  scarcely  able  to 
walk  alone. 

"  I  will  go  to  your  room  first,"  said  Edith ;  "  afterwards  I 
will  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Linn." 

In  Maria's  chamber  Edith  found  a  light  burning,  and  every- 
thing indicated  that  she  had  but  late  gone  out.  On  the  table 
lay  an  open  Bible. 

"  That  is  right,"  said  Edith,  pointing  toward  the  book ; 
"  you  cannot  have  a  better  friend." 

"  I  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Linn  read  a  great  deal  in  the 
Bible,"  said  Maria,  "  so  I  try  to  read  it ;  but  it  don't  do  me 
any  good." 

Edith  looked  upon  her  in  sad  surprise. 

"  I  feel  so  guilty  !  "  added  Maria,  with  deep  emotion. 

"  The  Bible  is  the  book  for  us  all  —  and  we  are  all  sinners," 
said  Edith. 

"  If  I  could  only  pray,"  said  Maria,  "  I  should  n't  feel  so 
badly ;  but  I  can't.  It  seems  as  though  the  heavens  were  shut 
against  me." 

"  We  should  never,  under  any  circumstances,  neglect 
prayer.  '  The  Lord's  hand  is  not  shortened  that  it  cannot 
save,  neither  his  ear  heavy  that  it  cannot  hear,' "  said  Edith, 
in  a  voice  of  tenderest  pity. 

Maria  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  as  she  said,  in  a 


EDITH     HALE.  d/0 

tone  which  seemed  a  wail  of  a  broken  heart,  "  0,  that  I  could 
hide  myself  from  God !  " 

Edith  turned  the  leaves  of  the  Bible,  until  she  read,  with 
kindred  passages,  " '  The  Lord  your  God  is  gracious  and 
merciful,  and  will  not  turn  away  his  face  from  you,  if  ye 
return  unto  him.'  Will  you  not  try  to  do  this,  Maria  ?  " 

"  It  is  too  late  now !  "  she  said. 

"  I  will  pray  with  you,  dear  Maria,"  said  Edith;  and  the 
two  girls,  so  widely  different  in  all  things,  knelt  side  by  side, 
while  the  voice  of  fervent  prayer  ascended  to  heaven.  That 
was  a  sacrifice  well-pleasing  to  God,  —  a  sacrifice  but  few, 
though  kindly  and  benevolent,  would  make,  —  and  it  was 
sealed  by  the  recording  angel  in  imperishable  letters  of 
gold! 

Maria  was  moved  to  many  tears,  and  a  peace  possessed  her 
heart  such  as  she  had  not  known  for  a  long  time  of  wretch- 
edness. Afterward,  Edith  spoke  to  her  of  the  future  before 
her,  warning,  advising,  and  encouraging,  in  all  the  fervor  of 
true  sympathy. 

"  I  have  but  one  hope  !  "  said  Maria.  She  hesitated,  as 
if  unwilling,  through  shame,  to  reveal  it. 

"  It  is  a  good  one,  I  trust,"  said  Edith,  encouragingly. 

"  But  one  thing  lights  up  the  gloomy  future  before  me  —  a 
promise  of  marriage  from  him  who  has  thus  led  me  astray. 
Were  it  not  for  this,  I  would  lie  down  hopelessly  and  die." 

"  Earnestly  do  I  hope  that  promise  may  be  fulfilled,"  said 
Edith ;  "  and,  if  it  be  possible  for  me  to  do  anything  to  assist 
you  in  bringing  this  about,  I  shall  be  glad  to  exert  myself 


376  EDITH     HALE. 

in  your  behalf,  or  secure  the  aid  of  some  friend  more  pow 
erful." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Maria,  anxiously  ;  "  that  is  impossible 
No  one  knows  who  this  man  is,  or  must  know.  Should  I  tell 
his  name,  all  hope  would  be  lost." 

Edith  now  said  she  would  leave  her,  as  the  evening  was 
wearing  away. 

"0!  no,  —  not  yet,"  sobbed  Maria;  "though  I  suppose 
you  are  tired.  But  it  seems  so  pleasant  to  hear  your  voice 
again,  and  to  see  you  look  with  pity  on  me  now!  God  bless 
you  for  this  act  a  thousand  times,  Miss  Edith  !  Scarcely  one 
of  my  old  friends  speaks  to  me  now,  except  those  blessed  peo- 
ple in  this  house ;  they  are  all  goodness  to  me  always." 

"  You  know,"  said  Edith,  "  that  you  cannot  expect,  in 
reason,  all  people  to  receive  you  to  their  friendship  as 
formerly." 

"  No,"  said  Maria  ;  "  but  there  are  some  people  who  are 
respected  by  everybody,  and  yet  have  done  as  wickedly  as  I, 
and  worse ;  for  they  are  the  deceivers,  while  I  have  been 
cruelly  deceived." 

"  Admitting  what  you  say  is  true,"  continued  Edith,  "  you 
do  not  think  that  the  public  are  aware  that  such  are  guilty." 

"  I  suppose  not;  — no." 

"  Then  such  conduct  should  be  attributed  to  misapprehen- 
sion and  ignorance  of  the  truth,  rather  than  to  any  worse 
motive." 

"  But  I  get  so  near  despair  when  I  think  of  all  this !  "  pur- 
sued Maria,  clasping  her  hands  tightly.  "  For  one  false  step, 


EDITH     HALE.  377 

I,  a  poor  girl,  have  lost  my  character  forever.  I  must  be 
thrust  down  lower  and  lower,  while  they,  year  after  year,  will 
ri.se  higher  and  higher,  because  they  are  strong,  and  great, 
and  powerful." 

"  Know  one  thing,"  said  Edith ;  "  the  way  of  the  trans- 
gressor, whoever  he  may  be,  or  whatever  position  he  may 
hold,  is  hard." 

"  If  I  only  knew  for  a  truth,"  said  Maria,  recurring  to 
herself  again,  "  that  this  promise  he  has  made  me  would  soon 
be  fulfilled,  I  should  be  too  thankful  to  survive  it,  it  seems 
to  me." 

"  I  will  pray  that  you  be  not  disappointed  in  this,"  said 
Edith ;  "  but  I  advise  you  to  make  a  friend  of  some  one  here, 
and  get  legal  assistance  in  bringing  it  about  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  That  cannot  be,"  said  Maria  ;  "  the  very  thought  of  such 
a  thing  overwhelms  me  with  fear.  He  has  told  me,  if  I  let 
out  his  name,  he  would  leave  me  forever ;  but,  if  I  would  wait 
patiently  till  it  was  possible  for  him  to  marry  me  in  some 
place  a  good  way  off,  I  should  not  be  disappointed.  So  I 
have  nothing  left  to  do,  but  to  cry,  and  wait,  and  hope." 

"  Maria,"  said  Edith  now,  very  solemnly,  as  she  took  her 
hand,  "  I  shall  not  see  you  again,  perhaps,  in  a  long  time,  for 
my  engagements  will  be  such  as  to  prevent  my  coming  to 
Waterbury  often ;  but,  whatever  befalls  you,  remember  that 
I  am  praying  for  you.  I  hope  you  will  never  again  omit  to 
pray  for  yourself.  Do  not  trust  in  man,  especially  in  one 
who  has  once  betrayed  you.  I  am  an  orphan  like  yourself, 
32* 


378  EDITH    HALE. 

and  I  speak  from  a  blessed  experience  when  I  say,  '  our  help 
cometh  from  the  Lord ; '  under  his  protection  only  can  we 
dwell  safely." 

"  If  I  had  only  felt  this  before  ! "  sobbed  Maria. 

"  It  is  never  too  late,  not  even  at  the  eleventh  hour,  to  feel 
the  blessed  influence  of  the  truth." 

Edith  silently  laid  a  purse  of  money  upon  the  table  on  the 
open  Bible. 

"  You  are  too  good,  but  I  cannot  take  it,"  said  Maria, 
decidedly. 

"  I  will  leave  it  with  what  I  shall  give  Mrs.  Linn." 

"  You  may  give  to  her,  if  you  like,  but  not  to  me.  I  feel 
how  kind  you  are." 

By  an  unconscious  impulse,  as  she  was  going  out,  Edith 
turned  and  looked  once  more  upon  Maria.  The  poor  girl's 
eyes  met  hers,  while  the  tears  rained  down  her  pale,  sunken 
cheeks,  and  her  hands  remained  clasped  tightly  together. 
Edith  could  not  withstand  that  look.  It  seemed  to  her  like 
a  new  and  sudden  revelation  of  all  Maria's  anguish,  and,  for 
the  first  time  during  that  painful  interview,  she  wept.  No 
words  could  she  speak  now;  and,  gliding  out,  she  gently 
closed  the  door  behind  her. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

A    SURPRISE. 

ON  the  following  morning,  Mr.  Raymond  proposed  to  Mary 
and  Edith  that  they  should  ride  with  him  out  into  the  open 
country.  The  quiet  enjoyment,  which  he  so  much  desired  on 
leaving  the  city,  seemed  somewhat  doubtful  in  the  atmosphere 
of  Mrs.  Pickering,  who  exerted  herself  to  win  his  favor,  with 
all  her  habitual  affectations.  Edith  could  not  accept  her  invi- 
tation, as  she  had  allotted  to  herself  to  spend  the  morning  in 
the  cemetery,  around  the  spot  where  slept  the  earthly  remains 
of  her  parents.  So  they  left  her  to  wander  there  alone,  while 
they  proceeded  on  their  ride.  She  had  not  visited  this  spot, 
sacred  to  so  many  solemn  and  painful  associations,  since  the 
brightness  of  a  better  fortune  had  dawned  upon  her  days. 
She  had  last  left  there  many  sighs  and  tears,  and,  as  she  once 
more  trod  the  path  which  led  to  the  home  of  the  beloved  dead, 
a  memory,  distinct  and  strong,  of  all  the  overwhelming  past, 
struck  her  heart  with  gloom  and  sadness. 

The  evergreens  about  the  ground  of  her  own  dead  had 
grown  rapidly  the  past  year ;  and  she  now  set  about  trimming 
them  to  forms  of  symmetry  and  beauty.  The  task  was  not  an 


380  EDITH     HALE. 

easy  one,  and  the  time  fled  rapidly  as  she  was  thus  employed. 
There  were  also  weeds  and  grasses  to  put  away  from  the 
paths,  and  some  other  improvements  to  make. 

At  length,  considerably  wearied,  she  sat  down  by  the  head- 
gtone,  for  rest.  The  stillness  of  the  spot,  with  the  monot- 
onous chirp  of  the  crickets  around,  soothed  and  lulled  her 
senses,  until,  like  a  gentle  breath  of  south  wind,  which  sighs 
itself  away  among  the  clouds,  she  fell  asleep.  As  she  slept, 
her  dreams  of  the  past,  when  she  had  lived  in  her  old  home 
with  her  parents,  overcast  all  her  face,  so  lately  saddened  by 
mournful  thoughts,  with  a  beaming  smile. 

There  was  one  who  beheld  that  smile  with  a  sympathetic 
influence  —  one  who  could  not  look  on  the  sleeper  unmoved. 
Just  without  the  enclosure,  an  eye  of  admiration  took  in  the 
loyely  picture  with  a  long,  enraptured  glance.  As  thus  Edith 
lay,  her  head  resting  against  the  stone,  and  in  part  upon  her 
hand,  with  the  uncovered  arm  draped  above  the  elbow  with  a 
light  fall  of  lace,  while  her  cheek  was  glowing  with  the  late 
exercise  she  had  taken,  and,  shaded  by  her  long,  dark  eye- 
lashes, contrasted  with  the  white  marble  beside  it,  in  exceed- 
ing beauty;  her  lips  were  delicately  parted,  as  if  inspired 
with  a  holy,  happy  thought ;  her  hair,  escaped  from  its  con- 
finement in  part,  fell  down  in  careless  ripples  over  her  neck, 
like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  upon  a  pearly  sea ;  and  a  few 
white  lilies,  she  hud  gathered  that  morning,  and  wound  their 
long  stems  about  the  sash  of  her  waist,  now  drooped  over  the 
folds  of  her  mourning-dress,  even  to  her  feet. 

A  voice  now  gently  broke  the  silence,  pronouncing  her 


EDITH     HALE.  381 

name.  She  awoke  suddenly,  and  gazed  in  affright  about 
her. 

"  What  is  it?  "  she  whispered,  involuntarily,  as  she  beheld 
nothing. 

"  It  is  not  one  who  has  risen  from  the  dead,"  said  the 
intruder,  now  disclosing  himself  fully  to  her  view. 

"  0,  I  am  so  frightened  !  "  she  exclaimed.  But  she  could 
say  no  more.  Her  face  had  taken  a  hue  that  bore  but  little 
contrast  with  the  marble,  now. 

"  Dear  Edith  —  Miss  Hale,  do  you  not  recognize  me  — 
your  old  friend  ?  Speak  once  again,  for  the  love  of  heaven  ! 
Have  I  killed  you  ?  "  he  said,  advancing  toward  her. 

"  No,  no  ! "  she  murmured.  "  But  is  it  a  dream?  It  can- 
not surely  be  that  you  are  here." 

"  Be  assured  it  is  a  reality,  dear  Edith,"  said  Hugh  Oliver. 
"  Excuse  me  for  my  familiarity  ;  but  you  look  so  white  and 
startled,  I  am  beside  myself,  I  believe." 

Edith  could  say  nothing  in  reply ;  so  she  remained  motion- 
less, while  he  sat  down  beside  her,  and  placed  his  arm  about 
her  form  for  support. 

"  I  owe  you  a  thousand  apologies  for  this  intrusion,"  he 
resumed,  after  a  moment's  embarrassment  had  passed ;  "  and 
I  will  try  and  explain,  if  you  will  be  gracious  enough  to 
listen.  I  am  at  present  making  a  short  stop  at  my  uncle's, 
where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raymond  called  this  morning,  upon  their 
ride ;  and  we  persuaded  them  to  spend  the  remainder  of  the 
day  with  us,  provided  you  could  be  induced  to  join  them. 


382  EDITH     HALE. 

And  so  I  came  in  person,  with  ray  uncle's  compliments,  to 
bring  you." 

"  I  believe  I  must  be  excused,"  replied  Edith,  in  confusion. 

Oliver  looked  disappointed ;  his  dark  eyes  fell  upon  her 
searchingly.  But,  when  he  saw  she  wore  an  expression  of 
timidity,  rather  than  disinclination,  he  said  : 

"  Why  is  it,  Miss  Hale  ?  Of  late  you  shun  me,  alto- 
gether." 

Edith  drooped  her  head  so  low,  that  her  face  was  concealed 
under  her  bonnet ;  for  the  tears  had  rushed  to  her  eyes 
unbidden. 

"  The  mystery  is,  why  you  should  seek  me,"  she  said,  at 
length. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Oliver. 

She  looked  up  hastily,  and  he  saw  her  emotion  with  sur- 
prise. Taking  her  hand  within  his  own,  he  held  it  for  some 
minutes  in  silence. 

"  If  you  do  not  go  with  me,"  he  resumed,  "  I  shall  infer 
that  you  cannot  pardon  this  intrusion." 

"  Then  I  will  accept  your  agreeable  invitation,"  she  replied, 
making  an  effort  to  rise.  But  he  detained  her,  apparently  in 
no  haste  to  leave. 

"  I  must  first  return  to  the  house,  where  I  am  stop- 
ping, which  will  occupy  a  few  minutes,"  she  said,  as  an 
inducement  to  him  to  be  gone. 

"  How  beautiful  is  this  place  !  "  he  rejoined.  "  Here  the 
hollow  forms  of  the  world  are  as  a  mockery,  and  heart  speaks 
to  heart." 


EDITH     HALE.  383 

"  Yes,  if  it  be  possible  for  the  spirits  of  the  dead  to  com- 
mune with  the  living,"  said  Edith. 

"  She  has  wilfully  misinterpreted  ine,"  thought  Oliver ; 
"  and  she  loves  another,  else  she  would  not  display  so  much 
indifference." 

He  arose  coldly,  and  accompanied  Edith  from  the  cemetery. 
He  had  not  been  misunderstood ;  but  Edith's  first  lesson  in 
worldly  wisdom  had  enabled  her  to  control  herself.  She 
believed  that  Oliver  was  only  using  the  language  of  friend- 
ship to  win  her  regard  for  the  time,  and  then  banish  the 
entire  memory  of  her  at  convenience.  She  therefore  deter- 
mined not  to  let  her  heart  cling  with  hope  upon  his  atten- 
tions. But  nothing  was  more  difficult  than  to  adhere  to  this 
determination. 

After  this,  during  their  ride,  Oliver  was  as  indifferently 
polite  as  even  Edith,  in  her  distrust,  could  have  desired. 
Then,  believing  she  had  judged  rightly,  she  threw  off  her 
restraint,  and  became  carelessly  happy,  to  appearance. 

"  Dear  me ! "  said  Mary,  aside  to  her,  after  her  arrival 
at  Major  Oliver's,  "  you  look,  for  all  the  world,  as  if  it  were 
nothing  that  a  man  like  Hugh  Oliver  had  been  attending 
you.  He  manifested  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  when  Horace 
consented  to  let  him  go  for  you." 

"  Gentlemen  are  all  deceitful,  save,  perhaps,  your  husband," 
replied  Edith. 

"  What  a  decided  misanthrope !  I  must  try  and  teach  you 
better,"  said  Mary. 

Edith  shook  her  head.     She  was  received  by  the  major 


384  EDITH    HALE. 

with  great  impressiveness.  He  inquired  with  interest  after 
her  welfare,  and  spoke  of  the  unmeasured  regard  in  which  he 
had  held  her  parents,  particularly  her  father,  with  whom  he 
had  been  chiefly  acquainted. 

"  Your  mother,"  said  he,  "  I  knew  only  partially ;  but  I 
recollect  her  as  a  perfectly  accomplished  woman,  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  term." 

Edith  thanked  him  amid  her  tears. 

"  She  has  sensibility,  and  is  easily  moved,  it  seems,"  said 
Hugh  Oliver,  to  himself,  as  he  observed  her ;  "  but-  the  diffi- 
culty is,  I  have  no  power  to  touch  her  heart." 

He  believed  he  understood  the  hearts  of  all  women  whom  he 
attempted  to  study.  The  truth  was,  he  had  so  much  of  his 
life  been  an  earnest  and  absorbed  thinker  and  student  upon 
other  subjects,  he  knew  but  very  little  of  that  he  professed 
in  this  respect.  Of  one  thing  he  was  certain ;  no  woman 
should  ever  be  made  aware  of  his  love,  until  he  was  first 
convinced  her  affections  were  unreservedly  his  own.  But 
many  things  of  which  a  person  is  certain  at  one  period  of 
life  become  exceedingly  problematical  at  another. 

The  major  soon  asked  his  guests  to  his  dining-room,  to 
partake  of  a  simple  repast,  which  he  always  had  prepared,  to 
divide  the  hours  between  breakfast  and  dinner.  Mr.  Raymond 
and  the  ladies  excused  themselves. 

"  I  shall  take  no  excuse,"  he  rejoined  ;  "  for  you  have  just 
been  riding  in  this  fresh  morning  air,  and  a  little  fruit  can  do 
you  no  injury.  Besides,  I  have  no  respect  for  these  laws 
•which  forbid  one,  if  ever  so  hungry,  to  eat  a  mouthful  till  the 


EDITH     HALE.  385 

prescribed  time.     Come,  Hugh,  I  resign  Miss  Hale  to  your 
care,  while  I  shall  attend  to  Mrs.  Raymond  and  her  husband." 

They  found  the  hospitable  board  was  graced  with  dishes  all 
of  glass,  as  the  major  never  used  a  service  of  any  material 
more  substantial  at  this  meal.  In  these  were  sliced  peaches 
prepared  with  ice-cream,  baked  pears  and  apples,  with  bowls 
and  pitchers  of  milk,  bread  like  a  light  snow-fall,  and  delicious 
cakes.  A  transparent  vase,  filled  with  large  golden  and 
purple  plums,  stood  in  the  centre. 

After  this  repast  had  been  sufficiently  discussed,  it  was 
proposed  by  Hugh  to  take  a  walk  to  a  high  hill  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  his  uncle's  house,  and  observe  the  fine,  extensive 
prospect  from  that  point.  To  this  all  gladly  assented ;  for 
the  day  was  not  very  warm,  and  the  sun  had  been  partially 
clouded  for  some  hours. 

And  so  the  hours  fled  on  amid  the  pleasing  variety,  until 
our  party  took  leave  of  their  agreeable  entertainers.  On 
their  return,  they  called  upon  Father  Shaw  and  Miss  Leah. 
Father  Shaw  inquired  abruptly  of  Edith  if  she  were  going  to 
be  married. 

"  Ye  see,"  he  commented,  "  ye  went  a  ridin'  'long  by,  this 
forenoon,  as  park  as  a  bird,  with  a  man  that  looked  as  ef  he 
might  do  for  a  husband  for  ye ;  and  I  think  there  's  somethin' 
in  V 

"  0,  no,  sir !  "  said  Edith,  "  I  have  no  such  idea." 

"  Yes,  yes,  that 's  the  story  in  all  the  gals'  mouths  ;  they've 
no  idee  of  marryin'  to  the  last.     But  I  don't  see  why  they 
need  to  be  so  desateful." 
33 


386  EDITH     HALE. 

"  I  trust  that  Edith  will  not  throw  herself  away,"  observed 
Miss  Leah,  in  her  usual  curt  manner. 

"There's  no  use  of  allers  bein'  'fraid  of  gettin'  thrown 
away ;  though  I  like  to  see  a  gal  careful,  and  look  well  afore 
she  jumps,"  said  Father  Shaw. 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  advice,"  said  Edith ;  "  but  I  have 
no  occasion  to  use  it  at  present." 

"  Ye  can  lay  it  away,  then,  in  a  corner  of  yer  heart,  till  ye 
want  it ;  but  don't  let  it  be  so  long  as  to  let  the  moths  eat  it." 

Other  characteristic  remarks  the  old  man  made  to  Mr. 
Raymond  about  life  in  the  city,  and  to  Mary,  counselling  her 
to  be  a  good  mother ;  all  of  which  were  received  with  the 
same  kindly  spirit  in  which  they  were  intended. 

The  next  day,  they  left  Waterbury,  on  their  return ;  and 
their  ride  was  not  less  replete  with  interest  than  before  ;  for 
the  vacant  seat  in  Mr.  Raymond's  carriage  was  occupied  by 
Hugh  Oliver,  who  had  accepted  an  invitation,  given  the  pre- 
vious day,  to  return  with  them  to  town. 

Arriving  home,  Edith  found  a  letter  addressed  to  herself, 
which  caused  her  a  variety  of  emotions.  It  read  thus : 

"  This  letter,  which  you  have  now  opened,  is  from  your 
uncle.  You  have  heard  your  mother  speak  of  her  brother, 
who  left  home  many  years  ago,  and  never  returned.  I  am 
he.  I  have  come  back  poor  and  lame,  so  I  have  nothing  as 
an  inducement  for  you  to  come  to  me.  But,  if  you  wish  to 
see  me,  you  will  find  me  in  a  little,  old  house,  the  way  to 
which  I  enclose.  Yours,  &c., 

X  PLAISTED." 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

EDITU'S   UXCLE. 

THIS  letter  was  to  Edith  as  a  voice  from  the  dead.  Her 
heart  overflowed  with  joy  that  she  had  found  a  relative  of 
whom  her  mother  had  often  spoken  so  affectionately,  and  she 
lost  no  time  in  answering  its  summons  in  person.  The  place 
indicated  as  the  residence  of  her  uncle  she  discovered,  after 
a  circuitous  search,  in  one  of  the  suburbs  not  far  from  the 
city.  It  was  truly  a  humble  spot,  but  picturesque  in  location, 
being  so  elevated  as  to  command  a  view  of  the  surrounding 
cities  and  of  the  water. 

With  a  trembling  heart  she  tapped  upon  the  door.  Xo 
answer  being  returned,  she  attempted  a  second  knock,  when 
she  heard  the  window  from  the  attic  upraised,  and  a  voice 
say,  "  Who  is  there?  " 

"  If  you  are  Mr.  Plaisted,  you  will  know  me  as  your  niece 
to  whom  you  wrote  yesterday,"  Edith  responded. 

"  The  Holy  Prophet !  the  Khan  of  Samarcand  !  "  exclaimed 
the  voice  ;  "  I  will  be  down  there  quicker  than  an  ostrich  will 
swallow  a  red-hot  bullet.'* 

As  he  was  opening  the  door,  Edith  heard  her  uncle  shout, 


388  EDITH     HALE. 

"  I  did  n't  make  out  to  come  so  quick  as  I  thought  for,  child. 
I  am  lame." 

When  the  door  was  finally  opened,  Edith  saw  before  her  a 
man,  apparently  of  sixty  years,  of  medium  height,  white 
hair  falling  to  his  shoulders,  with  a  thick  beard  cover- 
ing his  bosom,  and  a  stern,  intelligent  countenance,  greatly 
bronzed. 

"Is  this  indeed  my  uncle  —  the  brother  of  my  mother!" 
she  exclaimed. 

."  By  the  beard  of  the  prophet !  I  see  my  sister  Edith 
again  just  as  she  looked  when  I  left  home,  years  arid  years 
ago !  "  he  said,  while  he  studied  Edith's  countenance  with 
intense  interest. 

"It  all  comes  back  to  me  as  though  'twere  yesterday," 
he  continued,  with  an  effort  suppressing  his  emotion,  and  in 
a  voice  that  seemed  the  echo  of  years ;  "  she  was  young  and 
beautiful,  and  I  loved  her  well.  She  has  gone,  but  left 
her  image  behind.  The  great  God  of  gods  be  thanked  for 
this  ! " 

"  Dear  uncle,"  said  Edith,  much  moved,  "  you  can  scarcely 
know  how  rejoiced  I  am  that  I  have  found  you.  My  sainted 
mother  said,  on  the  day  she  died,  '  If  my  dear  brother  were 
only  living  now,  I  could  leave  you  in  peace ;  but  I  will  trust 
God  for  your  protection.'  " 

"  How  like  your  mother  are  your  words,  manner,  every- 
thing !  "  he  said,  as  if  this  idea  took  precedence  of  all  others. 

The  tears  came  to  Edith's  eyes ;  for  this  new  revelation  of 
love  had  come  to  her  with  an  overwhelming  power. 


EDITH     HALE.  389 

"  Then  you  are  really  glad  to  see  me,  Dithy  ?  "  said  her 
uncle. 

"  Dithy ! "  repeated  Edith,  unable  to  comprehend  hi3 
meaning. 

"  Yes ;  I  used  to  call  your  mother  Dithy,  aud  I  must  call 
you  so  ;  no  other  name  will  do  for  me." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  Edith ;  "  but  why,  dear  uncle, 
should  I  not  be  glad  to  see  you,  when  you  are  the  one  whom 
my  mother  dearly  loved  and  mourned  ?  " 

"  I  am  poor,  Dithy  ;  a  reason  enough,  the  world  through, 
why  you  should  not  care  for  me.  Had  I  brought  home  with 
me  gold,  diamonds,  brocades,  and  other  costly  stuffs,  such  as 
travellers  from  the  East  often  bring,  it  might  be  worth  the 
while  to  see  me." 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  one  who  estimates  such  splendor  above 
pure  and  fervent  love,"  said  Edith. 

"  Then  you  are  not  like  your  kinsfolk,  Dithy  !  "  Perceiv- 
ing that  Edith  did  not  comprehend  him,  he  added  :  "  After 
my  arrival  in  this  country,  I  went  first  to  see  my  sister  Sarah, 
your  Aunt  Regleton ;  and  should  n't  you  suppose  she  would 
have  been  glad  to  meet  once  more  her  only  brother,  who  had 
been  as  good  as  dead  for  a  long  time  ?  " 

"  It  would  seem  natural,  certainly,"  replied  Edith. 

"  But  what,  think  you,  she  did,  after  I  had  made  myself 
known  to  her  ?  She  neither  fainted,  nor  laughed,  nor  cried 
for  joy,  but  merely  said,  '  Have  you  come  home  wealthy, 
John  ? '  I  need  not  say  I  was  somewhat  surprised  at  this 
question,  when  I  had  expected  several  others  first,  under  the 
33* 


390  EDITH     HALE. 

circumstances.  It  is  something  to  be  poor,  and  something 
more  to  own  the  fact ;  but  I  told  her  at  once  that  I  had  been 
unfortunate,  and  had  no  money  with  which  to  bribe  her  friend- 
ship. '  Another  poor  relation  turned  up,  then  ! '  she  murmured, 
coldly.  If  an  alligator  had  sprung  out  from  under  where  I 
sat,  I  should  not  have  been  more  struck  with  astonishment 
to  find  my  sister  meet  me  in  such  a  way.  '  Only  a  short  time 
ago,'  she  went  on,  '  Edith's  child  came  here,  poor,  and  sup- 
posing I  would  help  her.'  — '  Edith's  child  destitute  ? '  I  asked. 
— '  Her  mother  is  dead.  She  married  against  our  father's  will, 
and  so  was  disinherited  —  right  enough,  too.  She  died  in 
great  poverty,  as  she  might  have  expected.  Her  child  is  a 
kind  of  a  protegee  to  a  family  here  in  town,  I  hear.  I  inquired 
into  it,  but  could  learn  nothing  satisfucton-.' —  'Then  father 
left  all  his  property  to  you  ? '  I  said.  — '  What  if  he  did  ?  I 
am  not  responsible  for  everybody's  misfortunes ;  I  had  no 
idea  of  taking  in,  as  an  equal  to  my  daughter,  the  child  of  a 
poor,  nameless  upstart.'  —  '  My  misfortunes  shall  not  trouble 
you,'  I  put  in,  rising  on  my  limping  leg.  — '  You  should  have 
done  better,  John,  than  this,'  she  said,  looking  me  over 
scornfully.  — '  Should  I,  supposing  I  could  not  help  what  has 
come  upon  me  ? '  I  answered.  —  '  Well,'  said  she,  with  a  deep 
breath,  '  you  are  my  brother,  and  I  can't  see  you  suifer.  31  y 
husband  may  find  you  some  work  to  do  in  his  store.  But  you 
had  better,  for  my  sake,  no't  tell  people  how  it  is.'  — '  Xo,' 
said  I,  '  I  will  be  sure  and  not  tell  anything  to  injure  you 
or  yours-;  but  I  do  not  need  any  help  from  you  at  present. 
I  will  get  work  somewhere  else.'  —  '  Whatever  I  do  for  you 


EDITH     HALE.  391 

will  be  a  free  gift,  you  know  ;  as  father,  supposing  you  were 
dead,  gave  all  his  estate,  without  reservation,  to  me.'  —  '  You 
are  kind,'  I  replied,  and  went  out  of  her  house  with  curses 
on  my  lips,  for  a  very  Arab  could  not  have  shown  more  self- 
ishness than  my  own  sister.  But,  Dithy,  I  have  cried, — yes, 
I,  who  have  not  felt  a  tear  upon  my  sunburnt  cheeks  for  long 
years,  have  cried  as  I  did  when  a  boy,  —  as  I  thought  this 
scene  all  over  again  and  again,  here  by  myself.  Sometimes  I 
think  it  all  a  dream,  and  I  will  go  to  her  again.  But,  by  the 
Grand  Lama,  I  never  can  go,  if  I  come  to  starve  for  a 
crust !  " 

"  You  shall  not  ever  want,  dear  uncle !  "  exclaimed  Edith, 
with  earne.st  affection  ;  "  it  so  happens  that  I  have  property 
in  prospect,  and  whatever  I  have  shall  be  shared  with  you, 
willingly." 

"  God  bless  you,  child !  "  he  replied,  much  moved  ;  "  but  I 
thought  you  were  unprovided  for,  from  what  your  aunt  said." 

"  After  my  father's  death,  I  was  quite  destitute  until 
recently,  when  an  unexpected  event  occurred  that  changed 
all  the  current  of  my  life,  the  circumstances  of  which  I  will 
reserve  to  tell  you  at  some  future  time.  At  my  request,  my 
improved  prospects  have  been  kept  chiefly  unknown  to  others 
than  those  immediately  interested.'' 

"  I  thought  I  would  see  if  you  would  meet  me  as  Sarah 
did  ;  but,  if  I  had  known  you  had  not  been  poor,  I  believe  I 
should  have  hesitated  to  make  the  experiment.  I  haye  long 
noticed  that  good  fortune  hardens  people's  hearts.  I  told 
you  in  the  beginning  how  it  was  with  me,  that  there  might  be 


EDITH     HA  LE. 

no  mistake.  I  am  sorry  it  is  so,  for  it  would  have  been 
mighty  comfortable  to  have  come  home  heavy  with  gold  and 
merchandise ;  but  this  world  is  a  queer  place,  and  long  ago  I 
learned  we  can't  have  what  we  want  in  it." 

Edith  took  the  old  man's  hand,  and  pressed  it  reverently  to 
her  lips.  After  a  pause,  she  said : 

"  Xow,  dear  uncle,  you  must  suppose  I  am  very  anxious  to 
know  something  of  your  past  history  in  the  silent  interim 
between  your  departure  and  return.  We  have  had  so  much 
to  say,  I  could  not  inquire  before." 

"  It  is  a  long  story,  Dithy,"  he  said,  "  and  made  up  of  many 
adventures,  which  I  shall  tell  you  in  good  time ;  for  every 
traveller  returns  rich  in  experience,  if  in  no  other  commodity." 

He  then  rapidly,  in  his  own  terse,  graphic  manner,  sketched- 
the  outline  of  his  adventures ;  —  how  he  had  been  captured 
by  a  pirate  on  the  Mediterranean ;  sold  as  a  slave  in  Constan- 
tinople, where  he  remained  for  some  years ;  with  his  merchant- 
master  crossed  the  Black  Sea  to  Soldain  in  the  Crimea,  from 
whence  they  proceeded  to  St.  Serai,  where  he  subsequently 
escaped  from  his  master,  and  was  detained  by  the  khan  of 
those  dominions ;  how,  after  writing  several  lettei-s  home,  and 
waiting  in  vain  for  a  response,  and,  on  account  of  the  war 
at  that  time,  unable  to  return,  he  joined  a  party  of  travellers, 
and  wandered  over  many  of  the  countries  of  Asia ;  was  next 
wounded  by  Arab  robbers,  and  enslaved  again  for  many 
ye.ir>,  and  in  their  service  twice  journeyed  across  the  Great 
Desert ;  and,  finally  escaping  once  more,  he  reached  a  port 


EDITH     HALE.  393 

from  which  he  embarked  for  England,  and  from  thence  to  his 
native  land. 

"  How  much,  during  all  this,  you  must  have  endured ! " 
exclaimed  Edith. 

"  Yes,  more  than  I  once  should  have  imagined  I  was 
capable  of.  I  should  have  died,  or  been  killed,  a  hundred 
times,  had  I  not  been  ordered  to  live  out  my  appointed  time ; 
for,  whatever  I  disbelieve,  I  have  no  doubt  in  a  fate  which 
will  work  itself  out,  despite  all  things.  But  I  have  cursed 
my  fate  more  times  than  I  have  lived  years." 

Edith  looked  sadly  surprised  now,  for  her  ears  were  all 
unused  to  such  words. 

"  AVas  that  quite  right,  uncle?  "  she  ventured,  kindly. 

"  Jliglit  or  wrong,  I  have  done  so,  and  would  again  in  like 
situations.  There  is  no  sense  or  justice  in  making  a  man  go 
through  what  I  have  been  obliged  to." 

"  In  all  the  trials  I  have  seen,"  said  Edith,  "  and  I  think, 
for  a  young  girl,  I  have  been  called  to  some  affliction,  I  have 
tried  to  remember  that  it  was  for  the  best,  —  that  God 
ordained  it  for  my  good  and  his  glory." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  such  doctrine  as  that,"  said  her 
uncle,  impatiently. 

Edith  was  still  more  surprised;  the  thought  occurred  to 
her,  "  Had  her  uncle  experienced  such  a  long  life  of  vicis- 
situde without  any  anchor  for  his  trust,  any  recognition  of 
the  beacon-light  above  to  guide  his  perilous  way  ?  " 

"  Don't  look  so  sober,  Dithy,"  now  spoke  her  uncle,  lightly. 
"  I  have  seen  the  operation  of  a  great  many  religions  over 


394  EDITH     HALE. 

the  world,  and  for  no  one  at  present  do  I  entertain  a  pref- 
erence. There  is  not  much  to  choose  between  the  practice 
of  going  a  pilgrimage  to  M^cca,  and  there  sacrificing  forty 
thousand  camels  to  fill  the  bellies  of  the  poor,  shaving  the 
head,  and  throwing  stones  at  the  devil's  eyes,  as  do  the  Ma- 
hometans ;  or,  of  writing  a  prayer  upon  a  board  and  licking 
it  off  with  the  tongue,  as  some  of  the  African  tribes  worship ; 
or,  abstaining  from  eating  pork  and  drinking  wine,  like  the 
Jews ;  or,  adoring  the  planets,  beasts,  birds,  fishes,  and  stones, 
&c.,  as  do  the  pagans ;  or,  laboring  through  all  the  senseless 
forms  of  worship,  like  the  Christians.  What  I  have  seen  and 
heard  in  Christian  churches,  pagan  temples,  Islam  mosques, 
and  Jewish  synagogues,  did  not  amount  to  much  difference  • 
fooleries  there  were  in  all,  about  alike." 

"  0,  uncle  !  "  said  Edith,  sorrowfully,  "  these  words  greatly 
disappoint  me.  Is  there  any  Bible  like  ours  ?  As  one  of  the 
inspired  prophets  said,  '  What  nation  is  there  so  great,  that 
hath  statutes  and  judgments  so  righteous  as  all  this  law,  which 
I  set  before  you  ? '  &c.  Did  your  mother  never  teach  you  the 
simple  but  beautiful  prayer  of  our  Lord  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  what  of  that?" 

Edith  was  sadly  at  a  loss  now  to  express  herself  as  she 
would ;  for  it  was  a  new  experience  to  her  to  meet  a  mind 
which  had  wandered  so  far  from  the  first  principles  of  her 
faith. 

"  If  you  see  no  excellence  in  such  prayer,  I  am  sure,  uncle, 
you  must  be  very  unhappy,"  she  said.  "  It  is  not  possible 
that  you  have  lived  all  these  years  without  prayer  to  God !  " 


EDITH     HALE.  395 

"  Dear  child,"  replied  her  uncle,  —  "  simple  child,  I  must 
call  you,  for  you  have  seen  nothing  of  the  world,  and  know 
comparatively  nothing,  —  are  not  all  these  peoples  of  whom  I 
have  spoken  religious,  and  do  they  not  all  pray  to  God  in 
their  several  forms?  Yet  they  all  alike  sin,  die,  and  perish 
to  the  dust.  This  religion  of  yours  may  do  for  a  woman, 
weak  and  narrow-minded,  to  live  by ;  but  I  want,  my  child, 
that  your  mind  should  become  liberal,  broad  as  the  earth 
itself,  and  high  as  God  himself,  and  not  bound  down  to  the 
mere  atoms  in  the  scale  of  thought." 

"  And  I  Avant,  dear  uncle,  that  you  should  be  happy,"  said 
Edith ;  "  for  I  am  quite  sure  there  is  little  real  consolation 
in  such  belief  as  yours.  Such  principles  are  no  rock  on  which 
to  ground  your  trust  when  the  rains  descend  and  the  winds 
of  adversity  beat  against  you."  Edith  paused,  too  much 
affected  to  proceed ;  beside,  she  was  afraid  to  speak  what  was 
in  her  heart. 

"  Look  here,  Dithy,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  I  have  a  few 
trinkets,  curiosities  I  saved  to  bring  home  with  me ;  and  these 
I  will  show  you,  of  my  humble  store.  So,  cheer  up,  child  : 
it  does  not  become  you  to  mope  in  this  way  over  Gospels  and 
the  like,  at. your  time  of  life.  Leave  such  stuff  to  priests  till 
the  days  of  your  gray  hairs." 

He  limped  up  the  low  flight  of  stairs  to  the  attic  above, 
from  which,  after  considerable  delay,  he  brought  down  a  box. 
In  this  he  displayed  several  curious  articles,  which,  he  said, 
were  not  valuable  in  themselves,  but  possessed  interest  from 


396  EDITH     HALE. 

local  associations,  and  from  their  manufacture  or  natural 
construction. 

"  There  is  a  stone,"  said  he,  "  I  have  kept  among  my  ad- 
ventures, of  no  great  value,  but  rather  beautiful.  It  was 
given  me  by  the  Great  Khan  of  Tartary,  as  a  curious  stone, 
possessing  the  art  of  healing." 

Edith  saw  that  it  was  a  stone  of  a  brilliant  red  color,  an 
inch  square,  and  of  corresponding  thickness. 

"  It  is  very  beautiful,  certainly,"  said  Edith.  "  What  kind 
of  a  stone  is  it  ?  " 

"0,  a  mere  red,  shining  stone,  as  you  see.  Here  are 
pieces  of  sandal-wood,  both  red  and  white.  Here  are  some 
other  stones,  of  pretty  colors,  I  picked  up  in  various  parts  of 
the  world ;  of  many  I  have  been  robbed,  but  I  contrived  to 
save  a  few.  In  fact,  I  have  a  passion  for  such  collections. 
Everyman  has  his  whims,  you  know.  Here  are  some  cowries ; 
some  dried  kouskous  from  the  banks  of  the  Niger ;  a  piece 
of  singularly  carved  ivory ;  a  root  of  ginseng ;  a  Hottentot's 
pipe.  If  you  have  a  fancy  for  any  of  these  things,  —  the 
pretty  stones,  for  instance, — I  will  give  them  to  you,  some  day." 

Edith  thanked  him,  and  added,  with  some  embarrassment, 
"  If  you  will  receive  in  exchange  some  money,  uncle." 

"  0,  for  that  matter,"  said  he,  "  I  can  get  along  at  present. 
I  hope  now  to  get  a  situation  in  some  mercantile  establish- 
ment, where  my  knowledge  of  foreign  affairs  will  be  valuable. 
If  I  can  earn  only  a  very  little,  it  will  be  enough,  as  my 
wants  are  simple  and  few." 

"  I  had  some  money  left  after  the  death  of  my  mother," 


EDITH     HALE.  397 

said  Edith,  "  and  it  is  quite  at  my  own  disposal.  "  If  you 
•would  take  this  until  I  come  in  possession  of  my  property, 
dear  uncle,  I  should  be  glad." 

"  Good  child !  "  said  the  old  man,  busying  himself  closely 
about  his  box ;  "  but  you  need  not  assist  me  at  present.  I 
brought  home  a  few  valuable  bales  of  merchandise  that  Jell 
into  my  hands  at  Cathay,  the  proceeds  of  which  will  support 
me  for  some  time,  with  my  frugal  habits.  After  that  is  gone, 
and  if  I  can  get  me  no  business,  I  will  let  you  know,  if  I  am 
in  need.  As  I  have  said,  I  feel  sorry  that  I  am  not  more 
able  to  gladden  the  hearts  of  my  kin,  after  this  long  absence." 

"  Do  not  talk  thus,"  said  Edith  ;  "  else  I  shall  begin  to 
despair  of  ever  convincing  you  that  I,  for  one,  am  rejoiced 
to  see  you." 

After  looking  at  some  other  curiosities  of  her  uncle's  col- 
lection, Edith  prepared  to  leave.  But,  before  going,  her  uncle 
requested  her  to  tell  him  about  her  present  manner  of  life ; 
and,  as  she  made  some  incidental  allusions  to  the  past,  he  was 
affected,  sometimes  to  grief,  sometimes  to  anger,  in  which 
Spanish  profanity  mingled  largely. 

"  Well,  Dithy,  we  have  got  very  well  acquainted  for  the 
first  meeting,"  he  said,  as  she  concluded,  "  and  I  hope  you 
will  not  forget  to  come  and  see  your  poor  old  uncle  as  often 
as  you  can.  There  's  nothing  here  to  attract  a  young  person 
away  from  the  great  world,  to  be  sure ;  but  I  can  tell  you 
some  stories,  by  and  by,  which  may  interest  you  somewhat. 
Then,  too,  I  shall  want  to  hear  all  the  particulars  of  your  past 
life  with  your  mother  and  father." 
34 


398  EDITH     HALE. 

"  I  had  nearly  forgotten  to  inquire  how  it  is  you  manage 
housekeeping,"  said  Edith ;  "  have  you  no  one  on  whom  you 
depend  for  this  ?  " 

"  0 !  no ;  I  am  an  old,  experienced  traveller,  you  know : 
and  I  have  taken  care  of  myself  so  long,  I  am  at  no  loss 
now.  I  can  cook,  make,  arid  mend,  quite  to  my  purpose,  I 
assure  you." 

Edith  smiled  a  little  incredulously. 

"  I  am  fearful  you  cannot  make  yourself  comfortable  here 
in  this  way,"  she  said.  "  Will  you  not  consent  to  take 
lodgings  in  some  pleasant  boarding-house,  if  I  will  meet  the 
expense  ?  " 

"  No,  Dithy ;  I  take  comfort  here  by  myself.  After  such 
a  wild  and  wandering  life  as  I  have  led,  I  should  feel  as  much 
out  of  place,  among  fine  people,  as  a  fish  out  of  water." 

"  Then  I  will  come  to  you  as  often  as  possible,  and  assist 
you  in  whatever  you  will  permit  me,"  said  Edith,  as  he  offered 
his  storm-beaten  cheek  for  her  parting  kiss. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

EVEXT3    OF   A   DAY. 

EDITH  faithfully  performed  her  promise,  visiting  her  uncle 
frequently,  and  always  bringing  with  her  something  which  she 
thought  would  contribute  to  his  comfort.  There  was  a  charm 
in  his  society  which  attracted  her  powerfully;  for  he  seemed 
like  some  curious,  quaint  specimen,  brought  from  a  distant, 
unknown  clime.  That  there  was  a  great  lack  in  his  character 
she  felt  more  and  more  with  every  interview ;  but  her  faith 
in  the  efficacy  of  prayer,  that  this  lack  might  some  time  be 
supplied,  was  simple  and  childlike,  yet  far-reaching  and 
powerful. 

Upon  a  Saturday  when  she  was  released  from  her  usual 
school  duties,  Mr.  llaymond  proposed,  as  he  had  business  in 
a  place  some  miles  out  of  the  city,  which  would  occupy  him 
during  the  day,  that  Mary  and  Edith  should  accompany  him. 
Mary  readily  accepted  the  invitation,  but  Edith  had  set  upon 
that  day  to  spend  with  her  uncle. 

"  I  would  gladly  go  with  you,"  she  said,  "  if  I  had  not 
promised  to  make  him  a  visit  to-day;  I  have  been  so  much 


400  EDITH     HALE. 

occupied,  of  late,  as  to  prevent  me  from  going  to  him,  and  I 
would  not  like  to  disappoint  him." 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  return  in  good  season,  to  spend  the 
evening  with  us,"  said  Mary. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Raymond  ;  "  we  shall  be  back  in  the  early 
evening  train,  and  we  will  have  tea  together,  after  which  I 
will  read  from  the  new  book  I  brought  in  yesterday." 

Edith  assisted  Mary  in  her  preparations  for  leaving,  as  they 
chatted  pleasantly  of  their  several  prospects  for  the  day ;  and 
they  kissed  each  other  so  affectionately  when  they  separated, 
that  Mr.  Raymond  laughingly  said, 

"  One  would  think  you  were  about  to  be  parted  a  year, 
instead  of  a  day." 

It  was  a  pleasant  picture  to  Edith  as  she  stood  at  the  win- 
dow and  saw  them  ride  away,  and  their  smiles  of  love  upon 
her  lighted  up  all  her  heart  with  radiance. 

"  How  beautiful  dear  Mary  looks  this  morning !  "  she  said 
to  herself;  "  and  how  glad  I  am  so  much  real,  rare  happiness 
has  at  last  fallen  to  her  lot !  I  used  to  think  there  was  no  justice 
in  fortune  in  this  world ;  but,  when  I  look  on  these  splendid 
scenes  around  me,  and  know  that  peace  presides  over  all,  I 
almost  believe  that  Heaven  bestows  superior  blessings,  even 
on  earth,  upon  her  favored  children." 

She  reflected  much  on  these  things  as  she  took  her  way  to 
her  uncle's  cottage  ;  but,  when  she  saw  his  gladdened  face  at 
her  coming,  she  had  no  thought  but  for  her  happiness  at  the 
meeting. 

"  Dear  uncle ! "  she  said,  "  I  am  afraid  you  are  getting 


EDITH     HALE.  401 

lonesome ;  but  I  have  come  to  spend  the  whole  day  with  you, 
if  }*ou  like." 

"  That  is  right,  Dithy,''  he  said.  "  I  was  thinking  perhaps 
you  were  getting  tired  of  coming  to  see  such  a  poor  old  man 
as  I.  But  you  are  good  to  come  at  all,  with  all  your  other 
cares." 

"  It  is  getting  to  be  cold  weather,"  said  Edith,  "  and  I  wish 
to  try  and  make  some  arrangements  for  your  comfort.  You 
know  you  are  unused  to  our  severe  climate  in  winter,  and  I 
have  been  sewing  some  flannels  for  you."  And  she  produced 
several  nice  garments,  which  were  the  result  of  her  own 
industry. 

The  old  man  looked  upon  her  with  loving  eyes,  but  he  had 
no  words  to  reply. 

"  Then  I  must  introduce  some  improvements  in  your  home, 
here,"  she  continued ;  "  I  hope  you  will  not  object  to  my 
making  it  as  comfortable  as  possible." 

"  No,  child ;  but  I  dare  say  things  appear  very  different 
to  you  and  me.  Now,  that  dust  upon  the  table  I  know  you 
will  not  let  remain  there  long;  but  I  harbor  no  ill-will  to  that 
sort  of  thing.  It  serves  me  for  a  tablet  on  which  to  cast  up 
accounts." 

"  An  original  idea  ! "  said  Edith. 

"  No,  child,  not  new  at  all ;  for  you  must    now  the  people 
of  some  of  the  countries  in  the  world  have  their  table  • 
buffets  plated  with  gold,  on  which  they  let  the  dust  accumu- 
late, so  that  upon  such  a  surface  they  may  write  and  draw 
mathematical  figures." 
34* 


402  EDITH      HALE. 

"  I  had  no  idea  that  the  practice  of  letting  dust  remain 
upon  furniture  was  so  respectable,"  said  Edith.  "  But  why 
do  you  suffer  those  unsightly  pieces  of  wood  to  grace  your 
chimney-shelf,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Don't  take  them  away,  child,"  said  her  uncle ;  "  they  are 
my  lamps." 

"How  is  that?  "  asked  Edith,  in  surprise. 

"  Can't  you  tell  a  pine-knot,  Dithy  ?  I  usually  go  to  sleep 
early ;  but,  if  I  happen  to  want  a  light,  I  burn  that.  I  am 
poor,  and  can't  afford  the  luxury  of  oil  or  gas.  Beside,  I  am 
used  to  this  way  of  doing,  and  like  it." 

"  I  hope  you  will  let  me  supply  you  with  something  better," 
said  Edith. 

"  Many  a  time,"  continued  her  uncle,  "  I  have  not  been  so 
well  provided  as  this.  I  have  often  resorted  to  fire-flies  for 
a  light," 

"  How  could  you  catch  them  ?  " 

"  From  a  bird,  which  takes  .fire-flies  alive  and  fastens  them 
with  moistened  clay  to  the  side  of  its  nest,  for  a  light  at 
night." 

"  That  was  rather  unmerciful,  it  strikes  me,"  said  Edith. 

"The  bird,  or  me?" 

"  Both,"  Edith  replied. 

"  One  part  of  the  world  always  make  the  other  serve  as  fire- 
flies to  light  their  own  nests  with.  If  you  could  show  me  any 
religion  that  would  bring  about  a  better  order  of  things,  I 
would  pay  some  devotion  to  it.  But  "you  have  fire-flies  in 
your  Christian  nest,  as  much  as  in  any  other." 


EDITH     HALE.  403 

"  I  am  not  quite  certain  of  your  meaning,  uncle." 

"  I  mean  that  you  Christians  number  people  who  are 
tyrannical,  and  who  make  others  subservient  to  their  own  in- 
terests. Before  I  left  this  country  I  remember  making 
observations  to  this  effect;  and  I  dare  take  an  oath,  by  the 
beard  of  the  prophet,  the  state  of  things  here  in  this  respect 
is  not  improved  a  whit." 

"  We  must  not  all  expect  to  fill  the  same  sphere  in  the 
church,  more  than  in  civil  organizations,"  said  Edith. 

"  True  enough,"  said  her  uncle ;  "  but,  the  difficulty  is, 
that  some  will  assume  a  sphere  that  does  not  belong  to  them  to 
fill,  and  the  one  that  catches  the  most  fire-flies  for  service  is 
the  best  fellow." 

"  I  should  liken  the  fire-flies  to  the  public  teachers  of  truth," 
said  Edith,  "  who  give  light  for  all  the  church  about  them, 
and  thus,  though  the  most  important,  perform  the  most 
service." 

"  I  want  a  religion  that  is  a  pure  equality,"  said  her  uncle. 

"  The  best  way  to  reform  the  religion  of  others  is  to  reform 
our  own,"  said  Edith,  in  a  mild,  sweet  voice,  which  softened 
all  the  seeming  reproof  of  her  words.  "  If  we  do  not  like 
the  devotions  of  those  about  us,  let  us  strive  for  a  better  in  our 
closets.  I  have  always  found  that  when  I  was  most  disposed 
to  question  the  religion  of  other  people,  I  was  least  in  the  exer- 
cise of  grace  myself.  Perhaps  I  speak  too  severely,  dear 
uncle,"  continued  Edith,  kneeling  at  his  feet ;  "  but,  if  so,  I 
am  in  fault,  for  the  very  essence  of  all  true  religion  is  charity, 
which  hopeth  all  things  and  endureth  all  things." 


404  EDITH     HALE. 

"  What  a  little  preacher  !  "  said  her  uncle,  laying  his  hand 
upon  her  head.  "  For  more  than  twenty-five  years  I  have  not 
listened  to  a  Christian  sermon  before." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  preach,  dear  uncle,  but  I  feel  so  desirous 
to  have  you  see  more  clearly  the  way,  and  the  truth,  and  the 
life,  I  get  too  earnest,  I  believe.  But  you  must  forgive  me, 
if  I  am  tiresome." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  Dithy,"  he  said,  now  more 
solemnly.  "  You  remind  me  of  my  mother,  who  was  a 
blessed  woman.  Her  latest  breath  was  drawn  in  prayer 
for  me." 

"  No  prayer  of  faith  is  lost,"  said  Edith,  reverently.  "  How 
beautiful  are  those  words  in  the  vision  of  John,  about  the 
elders  who  fell  down  before  the  Lamb,  having  harps  and 
golden  vials  full  of  odors,  which  are  the  prayers  of  the  saints  !  " 

As  Edith  sat  there  before  her  uncle,  her  lovely  face 
animated  with  intelligence,  and  with  an  ardor  of  pur- 
pose such  as  springs  in  a  heart  consecrated  to  holy  services, 
while  he,  in  all  his  hardiness  and  eccentricity,  was  moved 
unconsciously  by  the  mysterious  influence  of  her  words,  they 
were  a  study  for  an  artist's  pencil,  and  might  have  been  illus- 
trated emblematically  by  that  rock,  mentioned  by  Hephestiau, 
which  was  of  such  a  wonderful  nature  it  was  agitated  when 
struck  by  the  stalk  of  an  asphodel,  but  could  not  be  removed 
from  its  place  with  a  great  exertion  of  force. 

Edith  was  careful  never  to  weary  her  uncle  with  words,  so 
she  quietly  resumed  her  labors  about  \he  room.  Her  uncle 
presently  took  his  cane,  and  hobbled  up  stairs  to  his  chamber. 


EDITH     HALE.  405 

But,  not  long  after,  he  returned,  wearing  his  hat  and  over- 
coat, and,  after  commending  her  labors,  said  that  he  was  going 
out  for  a  short  walk. 

"  If  you  will  not  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  out  beside  a  poor 

v 

old  man  like  me,"  he  said,  "  I  wish  you  would  go  with  me, 
Dithy ;  for,  as  I  am  lame,  it  is  not  easy  for  me  to  walk  without 
assistance." 

Edith  readily  consented,  and,  when  her  uncle  had  locked 
the  door  securely,  they  went  away. 

"  It  seems  almost  like  a  new  land  to  me  to  see  such  streets, 
buildings,  and  people  in  such  costumes,"  remarked  her  uncle ; 
"  I  have  spent  so  many  years  in  other  climes,  that  I  cannot 
make  it  seem  natural." 

"  How  does  it  compare  with  that  to  which  you  have  been 
accustomed  ?  "  inquired  Edith. 

•'  Unfavorably,  in  many  respects,"  said  her  uncle.  "  The 
women  whom  we  meet  here  look  like  fragile  white  lilies,  ready 
to  be  blown  away  by  the  first  adverse  breath,  rather  than 
like  gorgeous  flowers,  which  flourish,  in  the  luxuriance  of 
beauty,  beneath  a  tropical  sun.  I  would  rather  see  one 
of  the  European  or  Asiatic  beauties  than  a  bevy  of  these 
pale  Americans." 

"I  might  tell  you  stories  of  the  favorite  ladies  of  many  an 
Eastern  monarch,  —  of  splendors  of  which  you  have  never 
even  dreamed  ;  but  there  is  yet  another  side  to  each  of  these 
pictures,  so  black,  so  revolting,  that  you  would  rather  accept  the 
lot  of  the  humblest  girl  who  walks  these  streets,  than  all  the 


406  EDITH     HALE. 

splendor  and  beauty  of  the  East,  with  its  balance  of  sin,  and 
terror,  and  death.  True  is  the  Chinese  proverb,  '  When  thy 
bed  is  straw,  thou  sleepest  in  security ;  but  when  thou  stretch- 
est  thyself  on  roses,  beware  of  the  thorns.'  " 

"  It  is  better,  after  all,  to  be  content  with  our  portion," 
said  Edith,  with  a  smile,  "  if  we  do  not  walk  the  streets  like 
birds  of  paradise.  As  the  Scripture  says,  '  Seeing  there  be 
many  things  which  increase  vanity,  what  is  man  the  better  ?  " 

"  What  is  that  large  building  before  us,  that  stands  like  a 
fortress,  gloomy  and  impregnable  ?  "  inquired  her  uncle,  as 
they  progressed  in  their  walk. 

"  That,"  replied  Edith,  "  is  the  state-prison." 

"  I  remember  now,"  said  her  uncle.  "  Suppose  we  enter 
its  precincts,  and  look  about  a  little.  I  have  a  fancy  for  visit- 
ing such  places ;  they  open  an  interesting  book  of  human 
nature,  from  which  I  read  valuable  instruction  much  more 
than  from  palaces  and  temples.  And  I  know  something  of 
the  life  of  a  prisoner,  from  experience." 

On  being  admitted  within  the  plain,  gloomy  walls,  a  cold 
chill  crept  over  the  heart  of  Edith,  and  she  clung  more 
closely  to  her  uncle,  as  if  seeking  his  protection.  They 
passed  out  into  the  spacious  yards,  with  their  high,  impen- 
etrable barriers  from  the  world,  and  saw  the  prisoners  at  their 
labors;  while  the  sounds,  heavy,  grating,  and  incessant,  of  the 
hammers  falling  upon  the  stone,  seemed  like  the  records  of 
the  moments  they  wore  out  in  expiation  of  their  crimes, 
written  with  an  iron  pen  in  the  rock  forever.  The  heart  of 
Edith  trembled  with  compassion  at  the  spectacle;  but  her 


EDITH     HALE.  407 

uncle,  whose  eye  was  familiar  and  ear  practised  in  the  world's 
harsh  scenes,  looked  on,  apparently  unmoved. 

They  passed  on  into  some  of  the  work -shops.  In  one  of 
these,  where  were  many  convicts  engaged  upon  some  mechan- 
ical labor,  Edith's  eye  fell  upon  a  prisoner,  who  immediately 
occupied  all  her  attention.  At  the  second  glance,  his 
countenance  seemed  familiar ;  and  it  was  evident  that 
she  was  also  recognized,  for  his  face  had  suddenly  become 
overspread  with  a  hue  of  shame,  and  he  turned  away  as  much 
as  possible,  that  he  might  escape  unnoticed.  AVith  great 
emotion  she  asked  her  uncle  to  inquire  the  name  of  the 
prisoner  she  indicated. 

"  That  is  Abiel  Tyng,  late  of  Boston,  but  formerly  of 
Waterbury,  I  believe,"  replied  their  conductor. 

"  It  is  he  !  "  responded  Edith,  in  a  suppressed  voice. 

"  Who,  child?  "  inquired  her  uncle. 

"  The  man  who  defrauded  my  father  of  all  his  esta'te,  and 
afterwards  with  his  family  flourished  upon  his  ill-gotten 
gains.  For  what  crime  is  he  here  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  For  robbery." 

As  they  passed  the  prisoner,  Edith  caught  his  stolen  glance, 
and  the  hot  blood  of  shame  mounted  to  his  close-cropped  hair. 
But  Edith  could  feel  no  exultation  now.  The  tears  rushed 
to  her  eyes,  and  she  entreated  her  uncle  to  leave  that  unhappy 
scene  as  quickly  as  possible. 

"  I  remember  now,"  said  Edith  to  her  uncle,  on  their  way 
from  the  prison,  "  how  this  Tyng  came  into  the  factory  at 


408  ED  IT  II     II  ALE. 

Waterbury,  with  two  ladies  dressed  iu  great  elegance,  and  saw 
me  at  my  work." 

"  He  did,  indeed  !  "  said  her  uncle. 

"  Yes ;  and  in  reply  to  some  observation  made  by  one  of 
the  ladies  respecting  the  faGtory-girls,  he  said  it  would  be  a 
great  pity  if  they  should  get  above  themselves  ;  for  some  were 
born  to  work,  or  something  very  like." 

"  I  wonder  what  he  thinks  he  is  born  for  now,"  said  her 
uncle. 

"  But  I  cannot  feel  any  other  emotion  than  pity  for  his 
wretchedness,"  said  Edith. 

"  I  can,  easily,"  said  her  uncle. . 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  right  to  ?  "  asked  Edith,  half  timidly. 

"  It  is  natural,  any  way,"  said  her  uncle. 

"  But  not  quite  right,  I  am  certain,"  said  Edith. 

When  they  had  returned  home,  Edith  asked  if  she  should 
not  go  out  and  procure  something  nice  for  dinner. 

"  No,"  said  her  uncle ;  "  I  am  already  well  provided,  for  a 
poor  man.  Yesterday  I  cooked  enough  to  last  till  to-morrow, 
with  the  help  of  a  little  heating  to-day.  You  needn't  laugh, 
Dithy,"  he  added,  as  he  saw  her  mirth  at  the  idea  of  his 
housekeeping.  "  Every  traveller  in  the  East  learns  how  to 
cook  the  dishes  that  can  tempt  an  epicure.  I  only  lack 
material ;  though,  if  I  had  plenty  of  money,  I  could  not  get  in 
these  markets  what  I  want." 

Edith  found  that  her  uncle  possessed  unusual  skill  in  the 
culinary  art,  although  his  seasoning  was  too  outlandish  to  be 


EDITH     HALE.  409 

palatable  to  her ;  yet,  with  some  alterations  of  her  own,  the 
dishes  proved  quite  agreeable. 

"  Xow,  if  I  only  had  some  of  my  favorite  eating,  it 
would  seem  like  old  times,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  sat  down 
to  the  table. 

"  Pray,  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  Edith. 

"  The  best  thing  I  ever  ate  was  the  baked  foot  of  an 
elephant.  You  must  have  heard  it  lauded  in  the  records  of 
gastronomy  ?  " 

"  0,  no,  never ! "  replied  Edith,  with  some  repugnance  in 
her  expression. 

"  Then  you  know  nothing  about  the  finest  eating.  Another 
excellent  dish  is  the  ortolan,  a  bird  which  was  formerly  sold 
at  such  enormous  prices  to  the  epicures  of  Home ;  and  then 
the  mullet,  and  some  other  kinds  of  fish,  served  up  with 
frontignac." 

Before  Edith  had  concluded  her  dinner,  her  uncle  produced 
a  box  of  dates,  and  some  other  dried  fruits  he  had  brought 
from  abroad,  which  she  highly  praised,  very  much  to  his 
satisfaction. 

After  dinner,  while  her  uncle  smoked  and  drank  coffee, 
Edith  sat  engaged  upon  her  sewing,  and  talked  of  her  past 
life,  at  his  request.  Then  he  told  stories  of  his  travels, 
interesting  Edith  so  closely  that  the  afternoon  had  waned  before 
she  was  aware.  At  an  early  hour  she  took  leave  of  her 
uncle  and  returned  home,  expecting  to  meet  Mr.  Raymond 
and  Mary.  But  she  was  disappointed.  As  the  evening  train  of 
cars,  upon  which  they  were  to  return,  had  been  due  some  time, 
35 


410  EDITH     HALE. 

she  concluded  that  they  must  have  made  a  short  stop  some- 
where about  the  city. 

llequesting  the  housekeeper  to  defer  the  tea,  she  took  a 
book  and  sat  down  to  read,  to  consume  the  time.  It  was  the 
new  book  in  which  Mr.  llaymond  had  promised  to  read  aloud 
that  evening  after  his  return ;  and  she  smiled  to  herself  as 
she  thought  that  by  her  punctuality  she  had  anticipated  the 
pleasure.  Her  reading  soon  absorbed  all  her  attention,  and 
an  hour  had  well-nigh  passed  before  she  recollected  why 
she  was  waiting. 

At  length  she  began  to  think  it  was  a  little  singular  that 
they  did  not  come,  as  they  had  engaged  to  return  early,  and 
spend  the  evening  with  her.  Calling  a  servant,  she  inquired 
if  the  carriage  were  sent  at  the  appointed  time,  and,  being 
told  that  it  had  been  gone  two  hours,  she  began  to  feel 
anxiety  about  their  absence. 

"  If  they  do  not  appear  within  a  few  minutes,"  she  said, 
"  I  will  send  to  inquire.  She  tried  to  frame  numerous  plau- 
sible reasons  for  their  failure  to  return ;  but,  no  sooner  was 
her  hope  fastened  upon  one,  than  its  futility  became  apparent, 
and  it  gave  place  to  another,  to  be  also  rejected,  till  her  anxiety 
deepened  into  a  nervous  foreboding.  She  had  decided  to 
despatch  a  messenger  to  the  depot,  when  she  heard  the 
carriage  stop  at  the  door ;  and,  throwing  aside  her  book, 
she  exclaimed :  "  They  have  come  at  last !  O,  I  am  greatly 
relieved !  " 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  hasten  down  and  meet  them ;  but, 


EDITH    HALE.  411 

devising  a  little  scene  for  their  welcome,  she  remained  where 
she  was,  impatiently. 

Presently,  hearing  footsteps  ascending  the  stairs,  she  sprang 
forward  to  welcome  Mary,  and  tell  her  how  much  she  had  suf- 
fered in  apprehension.  But  she  met  only  a  servant,  whose 
face  she  perceived  at  once  was  blanched  with  affright. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  Speak,  for  the  love  of  Heaven  !  " 
she  cried,  seeing  that  some  terrible  intelligence  struggled 
upon  his  lips. 

"  A  dreadful  accident  has  happened  to  the  cars,  ma'am, 
and—" 

"  O,  they  are  not  injured  !  Tell  me  they  are  safe  —  only 
detained  !  "  she  exclaimed. 

He  shook  his  head.  He  heard  sounds  of  hurrying  steps 
below,  and  a  new  pallor  settled  over  his  face.  "  Mr.  Ray- 
mond, we  hear,  is  very  much  hurt,  ma'am." 

"  And  Mary  ?  "  demanded  Edith,  frantically. 

"  Mrs.  Raymond  has  just  been  brought  home." 

Edith  could  not  stop  to  hear  more ;  but,  rushing  past 
him,  hastened  below  stairs.  She  suddenly  paused,  per- 
ceiving there  were  strangers  assembled.  Horror  was  marked 
upon  their  countenances,  and  they  were  speaking  in  that  low, 
suppressed  voice  that  betokens  the  presence  of  something 
fearfully  unusual. 

On  entering  the  room  in  which  they  stood,  her  eyes 
at  once  took  in  a  form  which  was  laid  upon  the  sofa,  about 
which  the  garments  were  crushed  to  fragments,  and  reddened 
with  blood.  The  face  was  closely  covered. 


412  EDITH     HALE. 

"  Where  is  Mary  —  Mrs.  Raymond  ?  "  cried  Edith. 

Some  one  pointed  to  the  form,  and  whispered,  "  She  is 
dead ! " 

"  Dead ! "  gasped  Edith.  "  0,  my  God  !  This  is  too 
much  to  bear  !  "  and,  with  a  wail  of  agony,  she  fell  down 
helplessly  in  a  swoon. 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

REVERSES. 

ONE  week,  with  its  seven  iron  or  golden  days,  how  much 
may  it  bring  of  woe  or  gladness  !  One  week  from  the  day 
when  Edith  went  to  visit  her  uncle,  she  was  alone,  and  sub- 
merged in  grief  in  that  stricken  home,  with  no  hope  of  the 
return  of  the  companions  who  were  gone.  Her  misfortunes 
had  proved  more  heavy  than  even  they  had  appeared  in  their 
first  crushing  weight.  Mr.  Raymond  had  only  lingered  a  few 
hours,  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  before  he  was  numbered 
among  the  dead,  with  his  wife. 

Those  solemn  words,  the  inspired  dirge  for  the  dead,  "  Man 
that  is  born  of  a  woman  is  of  few  days,  and  full  of  trouble. 
He  cometh  forth  like  a  flower  and  is  cut  down ;  he  fleeth  also 
a  shadow,  and  continueth  not,"  had  been  read  over  their 
remains,  and  together  had  they  been  borne  away  to  the  tomb 
to  return  no  more  forever.  Edith  had  passed  through  all  this 
as  one  in  a  dream.  The  great  grief,  with  its  overwhelming 
excitement,  the  funeral  ceremonies,  the  words  of  consolation, 
the  solitude  which  brooded  over  her  heart  like  the  gloom  of 
night,  all  held  her  senses,  as  it  were,  paralyzed  with  sorrow. 
35* 


414  EDITH     HALE. 

The  friends  and  strangers,  who  had  sought  to  soothe 
her  wounded  heart,  having  left  her  by  herself  for  a  season, 
the  extent  of  her  loss  was  more  certainly  defined  to  her. 
Her  first  impressions  had  been  poignant ;  in  the  solitude 
of  uninterrupted  reflection,  her  sorrow  became  deep,  abiding, 
and  calm. 

Many  times,  on  this  day  which  brought  the  week  to  a  close, 
had  she  wandered  through  the  rooms  which  so  late  had  been 
animated  with  the  sunny  presence  of  the  beloved ;  everything, 
on  either  hand,  as  in  a  cemetery,  suggestive  of  death.  The 
boudoir,  which  was  more  closely  associated  with  Mary  than 
any  other  room,  her  harp,  books,  chair,  work-basket,  remain- 
ing just  as  she  had  last  used  them,  seemed  now  to  Edith  all 
overcast  with  a  chilling  darkness.  Oftenest,  by  some  unac- 
countable influence,  had  she  lingered  in  the  room  in  which 
was  the  portrait  of  the  elder  Mr.  Raymond,  her  grand- 
father. Now  the  gloomy,  austere  face,  with  its  deep  eyes,  she 
imagined  looked  down  upon  her  steadily,  till  it  softened  into 
something  of  benignity  and  compassion. 

"  My  grandfather  —  blessed  name  !  "  she  whispered.  "  0, 
that  I  could  have  been  permitted  to  love  you  in  life  — 
to  call  one  smile  of  affection  to  those  stern  lips  ! " 

But  the'very  thought  shapen  into  words  held  her  breath- 
less with  awe,  as  she  looked  upon  the  face,  which  again,  to 
her  imagination,  wore  its  wonted  severity.  A  storm  had  been 
boding  in  the  leaden  sky  since  the  morning ;  and,  toward  the 
wane  of  day,  the  rain  began  to  fall  against  the  window-panes, 
and  the  harsh,  cold  winds  of  November  went  rustling  and 


EDITH     HALE.  415 

sighing  heavily  without  the  house,  as  if  instinct  with  a  human 
wail  of  woe.  Edith  could  not  wander  in  the  great,  desolate 
rooms,  now ;  for,  with  the  early  gloaming,  and  the  rain,  there 
seemed  to  have  come  .in  the  dusky  robes  of  the  dead,  and  they 
bru.-hed  past  her  at  every  step ;  while  cold,  pale  hands  were 
laid  upon  her  brow,  in  a  solemn  and  silent  benediction. 

She  went  to  the  library,  determined  to  occupy  her  mind 
with  reading  until  the  hour  when  the  housekeeper  should 
come  to  receive  her  instructions  for  the  following  day.  All 
remained  as  Mr.  Raymond  had  last  left  it.  Beside  the 
writing-desk  was  his  favorite  volume  turned  down  upon  its 
open  page,  as  if  the  interrupted  reading  were  to  be  resumed 
with  the  next  leisure.  Taking  it  up  half  unconsciously,  she 
sat  down  to  read.  A  stronger  gust  of  wind  swept  by  the 
walls  of  the  house,  as  if  a  legion  of  spirits  were  cleaving  the 
air  with  their  sable  wings.  With  a  trembling  heart,  she 
steeled  her  ear  to  the  sounds,  and  read  on.  But,  when  she 
came  to  the  words,  "  Green  thorn  of  the  hill  of  ghosts,  that 
shakes!  thy  head  to  nightly  winds  !  Is  there  no  spirit's  windy 
skirt  now  rustling  in  thy  leaves  ?  Often  are  the  steps  of  the 
dead  in  the  dark-eddying  blasts,  when  the  moon,  a  dun-shield 
from  the  east,  is  rolled  along  the  sky,"  she  said  — 

"  I  cannot  read  more  !  It  is  too  dark  without  and  within 
my  heart." 

And,  leaving  the  chair  in  which  she  had  seen  Horace  Ray- 
mond so  often  sitting,  she  went  out,  and  closed  the  door 
behind  her,  pausing,  for  the  first  time,  to  turn  the  key  in  the 
lock.  She  then  went  to  the  room  of  the  housekeeper,  who 


416  EDITH     HALE. 

sat  mending,  as  she  always  did  of  a  Saturday  night,  and 
singing  to  herself,  in  a  low  voice,  the  hymn  beginning  with 

"  Hark  !  from  the  tombs,  a  doleful  sound  !  " 

Edith  had  ostensibly  joined  her  upon  business,  but  consola- 
tion was  not  less  her  object.  This  seemed  somewhat  doubtful; 
for  the  woman  straightway  began  to  speak  of  the  gloomy 
night,  and  the  superstitions  connected  therewith,  till  she  fell 
upon  tales  of  horror,  enough  to  chill  the  very  life-blood. 

And  so,  at  an  early  hour,  Edith,  weary  with  grief,  retired 
to  her  pillow.  But  she  could  not  sink  her  thoughts  into 
the  soft,  peaceful  lap  of  forgetfulness.  The  storm  having 
increased  to  violence,  her  mind  kept  pace  with  its  strong  con- 
fusion, refusing  to  be  led  by  the  angel  of  the  green  pastures 
and  the  still  waters.  Woful,  indeed,  is  the  first  night  of 
storm  after  the  dead  have  been  borne  from  our  homes. 
On  such  a  night,  when  we  hear  the  winds  shriek  and  howl 
over  the  roof,  adown  the  chimneys,  and  into  every  cranny  and 
casement,  till  the  house  groans  and  trembles  like  a  thing  of 
life  in  agony,  we  twine  our  affections  more  closely  around  the 
living  whom  we  love,  and  bless  God  that  we  are  not  utterly 
bereft. 

But  Edith  could  not  feel  this  consolation  in  that  desolate 
home.  Hour  after  hour  she  lay  feverishly  wrestling  with  her 
thoughts,  until  toward  morning,  when  the  storm  abated,  she 
finally  slept.  But  her  sleep  brought  no  rest  —  only  troubled 
and  fitful  dreams  of  the  dead. 

The  morning  dawned  in  cold  and  brilliant  calmness.     It 


EDITH     HALE.  417 

was  the  first  Sabbath  since  the  burial  of  the  dead,  and,  to 
Edith,  a  new  Sabbath  in  her  existence.  At  the  sound  of  the 
church-bells,  which  struck  over  the  city,  her  heart  failed 
within  her,  and  she  exclaimed,  sorrowfully,  "  I  am  alone  !  I 
am  alone ! "  in  harmony  with  the  solemn  peals.  Then  she 
prayed  till  she  remembered  the  words  "  Fear  thou  not,  for  I 
am  with  thee,"  and  grew  calm  as  the  holy  morning. 

Horace  Raymond  had  been  very  much  beloved,  from  his 
youth,  by  the  people  with  whom  he  worshipped ;  and,  on  this 
day,  they  manifested  especially  their  mourning  for  his  death. 
There  were  also  many  to  whom  Mary  had  attached  herself; 
for  her  character  had  deepened  into  rare  loveliness.  To  all 
those  who  had  known  them  it  was  a  melancholy  day ;  but  to 
Edith  especially  it  was  gloomy.  The  hours  moved  slowly 
and  heavily.  With  its  close  came  thoughts  of  the  opening 
week,  and  its  new  cares  and  business.  Edith  was  sitting  by 
herself,  and  reflecting  upon  the  heavy  responsibilities  which 
had  fallen  to  her  lot,  as  meantime  evening  stole  on,  when 
she  was  aroused  by  the  entrance  of  the  housekeeper,  who 
announced  that  a  gentleman  had  called,  and  wished  to  see  her. 

"  Did  he  not  send  his  name?  "  inquired  Edith. 

"  He  said,  when  I  asked  him,  it  was  no  matter ;  he  must 
see  you,  at  any  rate,"  replied  the  housekeeper,  smiling. 

Edith  was  not  accustomed  to  company  on  the  Sabbath 
evening,  and  she  regarded  the  circumstance  as  somewhat  sin- 
gular. She  thought  hurriedly  of  her  few  friends,  and  among 
them  of  Hugh  Oliver,  who,  for  some  unknown  reason,  had 
not  appeared  to  offer  condolence  during  the  week  preceding, 


418  EDITH     HALE. 

which  had  not  a  little  contributed  to  her  wakefulness  on  the 
past  night. 

With  a  perturbed  heart,  she  descended  to  the  receiving 
room.  She  saw  that  her  visitor  had  arisen  from  his  seat,  and 
was  examining  the  articles  about  the  room  with  the  close 
scrutiny  of  one  employed  in  taking  an  inventory.  She 
advanced  with  some  hesitation  ;  for,  not  being  able  to  see  his 
face,  she  could  not  divine  who  could  thus  be  assuming  such 
freedom. 

'•  Whom  have  I  the  honor  of  addressing?"  she  inquired. 

No  answer  being  returned,  she  presented  herself  fully 
before  him.  The  face  that  now  looked  upon  her  was  that 
of  a  stranger  —  an  old  man,  with  bald  head,  a  countenance 
coarse  and  harsh,  and  a  stooping,  small  figure,  poorly  and 
slovenly  attired.  Her  next  impulse  was  fear;  for  she  believed 
that  this  man  was  wholly  an  intruder. 

"  This  the  girl  that  Horace  took  home  ?  "  he  inquired, 
rather  as  a  demand  than  a  question,  while  he  eyed  her 
searchingly. 

"  I  am  Edith  Hale  —  a  relative  of  the  late  Mr.  Horace 
Raymond,"  she  replied.  . 

"  Ye  came  in  so  soft  and  cat-like,  and  I  was  so  busy  here, 
that  I  did  n't  hear  ye.  Edith  Hale  is  yer  name,  then  ?  " 

Edith  bowed  stiffly. 

"  I  should  ha'  been  here  before  now,  only  I  did  n't  know  he 
was  killed  till  last  night." 

"  Are  you  an  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Raymond's  ?  "  asked 
Edith. 


EDITU     HALE.  419 

"  No,  I  an't,  I  never  wanted  to  know  him ;  but  I  am  his 
uncle  —  old  Raymond's  only  sister's  husband." 

The  old  man  now  looked  upon  Edith  as  if  he  expected  some 
deference ;  but,  failing  of  eliciting  any  notice  from  her 
other  than  that  of  wonder,  he  continued,  in  a  stronger  voice, 

"  And  now  I  am  his  heir;  his  only  heir,  mind  ye  !  " 

Edith  knew  not  what  answer  to  make  to  this,  for  she  thought 
she  was  encountering  a  crazed  person.  The  dark,  small  eyes 
of  her  visitor  were  fastened  upon  her  with  a  shrewd,  fierce 
expression,  which  made  her  tremble. 

"  I  conclude  you  are  not  aware  that  my  father  was  a  half- 
brother  of  the  late  Mr.  Raymond,  the  oldest  child  of  the  elder 
Raymond?"  she  said,  after  a  painful  pause,  in  which  the  old 
man  had  been  closely  scrutinizing  the  expression  of  her  face. 

"  Xo,  no !  "  he  replied,  shaking  his  head  wisely,  "  I  guess 
I  an't  aware  of  any  such  stuff  as  that !  I  don't  know  nothing 
about  it ;  nor  I  shan't  know  nothing  about  it !  " 

"  Have  you  never  heard  of  this  before  ?  "  inquired  Edith. 

"  I  've  heard  a  great  many  things  before,  but  stories  don't 
take  me  in.  My  name  is  Rufus  Sykes,  and  that  man  knows 
what  he  is  about,  and  nothing  can  turn  him  out  of  any  course 
of  his'n." 

"  You  surely  do  not  doubt  my  word  ?  "  said  Edith,  now 
beginning  to  comprehend  something  of  the  man's  design 
against  her. 

"  I  believe  that  every  word  about  old  Raymond's  first  mar- 
riage is  a  lie ;  and  you,  and  all  the  powers  of  earth,  can't 
prove  that  it  is  n't !  "  he  said,  fiercely. 


420  EDITH     HALE. 

"  But  the  elder  Mr.  Raymond  left  a  writing,  detailing  all 
the  circumstances  of  his  marriage  to  my  father's  mother,"  said 
Edith. 

"  I  knew  that  before,"  rejoined  the  old  man,  with  another 
shrewd  shake  of  the  head. 

"  And  in  that  writing  he  expressly  ordered  that  I,  my 
father's  only  child,  on  attaining  the  age  of  my  majority, 
should  receive  a  certain  portion  of  all  his  estate.  And,  now 
that  Horace  is  dead,  I  am  the  only  legal  heir  to  the  whole  of 
this  Raymond  property,"  continued  Edith. 

"  Was  that  writing  signed  and  witnessed  ?  "  asked  the  old 
man,  in  a  tone  that  expressed  the  luxury  of  triumph. 

Edith  hesitated,  and  turned  deathly  pale.  She  now  recalled 
the  fact  that  old  Mr.  Raymond  had  not  been  able  to  finish 
this  document,  and  had  died  without  leaving  his  name  upon 
it.  As  she  had  not  yet  come  to  the  years  of  her  majority,  no 
part  of  her  property  had  been  received. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  the  old  man,  "  so  ye  need  n't 
trouble  yourself  to  think  of  anything  to  say.  I  heard  the 
whole  story  when  old  Horace  Raymond  died ;  and  I  knew 
then,  if  young  Horace  should  die  without  leaving  wife  or  chil- 
dren, or  a  will,  I  should  get  every  cent  of  the  Raymond  prop- 
erty for  my  own  child.  He  has  died,  and  he  did  n't  leave  a 
will,  nor  wife,  nor  child." 

"  I  know  it  would  be  the  wish  of  the  Raymonds,  were  they 
here  now,"  said  Edith,  "  that  I  should  inherit  their  estate." 

"  What  if  it  would  ?  Dead  men  can't  help  what  becomes 
of  their  money,  even  if  it  goes  to  the  ones  they  'd  least  want 


EDITH     HALE.  421 

to  have  it  go  to.  I  know  there  never  was  any  love  betwixt 
the  Raymonds  and  I,  but  that  don't  alter  the  matter  a  whit 
now.  It 's  good  enough  for  the  old  man  !  "  he  added,  solilo- 
quizing ;  "  he  always  hated  me  and  my  sister.  Good  enough 
for  him  !  He  promised  to  have  her  and  then  did  n't,  and  it 
broke  her  heart.  Good !  I  've  got  all  the  money  he  laid 
up  now ! " 

The  tears  came  to  Edith's  eyes ;  she  was  utterly  at  a  loss 
what  to  say  or  do,  for  she  had  no  one  to  whom  to  appeal  in 
this  emergency. 

"  I  am  certain,"  she  said,  at  length,  "  that  you  must  be 
mistaken  in  this.  I  believe  that  I  shall  be  able  to  dispute 
your  claim." 

"  Dispute  it  as  much  as  you  like !  You  may  go  to  any 
lawyer  in  this  state,  and  see  if  you  can  prove  that  you  are  the 
legal  heir  to  this  property,  instead  of  me." 

"  I  shall  try  it,"  replied  Edith. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  old  man,  "  the  sooner  the  better. 
It  matters  nothing  to  me.  This  place  and  this  property  is 
mine,  and  you  will  have  to  own  it  is." 

"  You  cannot,"  said  Edith,  "  be  so  determined  upon  taking 
advantage  of  my  helplessness !  If  you  persist  in  this,  and  it 
prove  as  you  say,  I  shall  be  thrown  upon  the  world  in  poverty, 
when,  as  you  know,  I  am  the  only  heir  to  this  estate." 

"  You  ought  ter  be  thankful,"  he  said,  "  that  you  've  had 

so  much  out  of  the  Raymonds  here,  when  you  an't  any  related 

to  'em.     Xow,  I  warn  you  to  leave  this  house  by  to-morrow 

night,  for  I  am  going  to  sell  it  at  auction,  and  everything  in  V 

36 


422  EDITH     HALE. 

"  You  will  not  certainly  deprive  me  of  a  home  until  the 
case  between  us  is  decided  at  a  court  of  justice !  "  exclaimed 
Edith.  "  I  am  an  orphan,  without  brothers  or  sisters  to  aid 
me,  and  I  have  a  poor,  lame  uncle,  who  is  looking  to  me  for 
future  support.  You  cannot  find  it  in  your  heart  to  do  this 
great  evil !  Think,  if  you  have  children,  how  you  would 
feel  to  know  that  they  were  forced  to  such  an  extremity  !  " 

"  I  've  heard  that  Horace  took  ye  out  of  poverty.  It  won't 
be  nothing  new  to  you  to  be  down  again.  You  have  had  too 
much  here  now ;  it 's  all  come  right  out  of  me,  at  last." 

Edith  sat  down,  overwhelmed  with  grief. 

"  You  need  n't  look  so  hard  at  me,  girl,"  he  continued.  "  I 
know  what  I  'm  about ;  and,  if  you  knew  Rufus  Sykes,  you  'd 
know  that  he  's  like  an  iron  bar,  he  can't  be  bent.  He  's  been 
through  a  great  many  rocks,  but  he  's  sure  to  break  wherever 
he  strikes." 

"  This  business  ill  becomes  the  Sabbath.  I  will  see  you  at 
another  time,"  said  Edith. 

"  It 's  no  use  to  talk  such  stuff  to  me !  I  shall  come  into 
my  own  house,  here,  a  Sunday,  or  any  day  I  take  a  notion, 
without  asking  leave  of  anybody.  I  come  to-night  a  purpose 
to  save  time,  for  I  don't  waste  my  life  away,  like  the  lazy, 
good-for-nothing  gentry.  I  tell  ye,  once  for  all,  you  must 
leave  this  house  right  away,  or  be  driven  out  by  an  officer. 
After  to-morrow,  if  you  are  here,  I  shall  charge  ye  rent. 
And  when  ye  go,  if  you  take  a  single  article  that  belonged  to 
the  Raymonds  away  with  ye,  I  shall  prosecute  ye  for  it. 
And  now  I  want  a  candle,  so  that  I  can  go  round  through  all 


EDITH     HALE.  423 

the  rooms  and  see  jest  what  is  in  'em.  When  I  once  put  my 
eye  on  a  thing,  if  it  an't  there  next  time,  I  shall  know  it." 

Edith  was  so  overwhelmed  at  this  singular  revelation,  that 
she  had  no  power  of  remonstrance.  Until  the  next  morning, 
when  she  could  make  efforts  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  this 
man's  pretensions,  by  taking  legal  counsel,  her  anxiety  was 
intense.  Without  experience  in  business  of  this  kind,  she 
felt  reluctant  to  present  her  case  to  a  stranger.  She  remem- 
bered Hugh  Oliver,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  practitioners 
of  law  in  the  city,  and  an  acquaintance  who  had  already 
manifested  great  friendliness,  to  whom  she  could  go ;  but  her 
heart  forbade  it.  She  had  not  seen  him  for  some  time,  and 
she  believed  that  his  former  friendship  had  lapsed  into  indif- 
ference, or  forgetfulness.  As  he  had  not  come  to  her  to  offer 
his  sympathy  after  the  distressing  casualty,  of  which  he  could 
not  fail  to  hear,  she  would  not  have  the  appearance  of  seeking 
him. 

With  a  failing  heart  she  entered  the  building  chiefly  occu- 
pied by  the  offices  of  counsellors,  and  ascended  the  long  flight 
of  stairs.  On  reaching  the  passage  at  the  head,  she  paused  a 
moment,  to  collect  her  scattered  thoughts  to  a  degree  of  control. 
On  cither  side,  for  a  long  way  before  her,  she  saw  the  doors 
with  the  names  of  the  attorneys  upon  the  ground  glass  panes, 
like  black  symbols  upon  ice.  At  this  juncture  she  heard  foot- 
steps ascending  the  stairs,  and  she  moved  forward  within  the 
shadow  of  an  angle  of  the  passage,  for  she  remained  too  much 
perturbed  to  proceed  upon  her  business.  As  the  steps 
approached,  the  voices  of  two  gentlemen  in  conversation  fell 


424  EDITH     HALE. 

upon  her  ear,  one  of  which  she  immediately  recognized. 
Turning  her  head  involuntarily,  she  encountered  Hugh  Oliver. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  he  said,  pausing  suddenly,  and  with  in- 
terest. "  You  were  going  to  see  me,  were  you  not?" 

"  Xc,"  said  EJith,  too  much  confused  to  consider  what  she 
said,  "  I  came  upon  legal  business,  scarcely  caring  what  lawyer 
I  saw." 

"  You  are  in  great  affliction,"  continued  Oliver,  looking 
sadly  upon  her,  as  she  stood  tearfully  in  her  deep  mourning 
garments.  Edith  could  not  reply.  "  I  have  but  late  heard 
of  the  painful  circumstances  of  your  friends'  death,  having 
returned  to  the  city  this  morning,  after  an  absence  of  several 
weeks." 

At  these  words  a  momentary  gladness  sprang  up  in  her 
heart,  but  it  was  quickly  succeeded  by  the  old  mistrust. 

"  Perhaps  he  thinks  me  an  heiress,"  she  thought ;  "  but  he 
shall  be  quickly  undeceived." 

Edith  did  not  refuse  now  to  be  shown  into  Oliver's  office, 
and,  after  some  preliminary  conversation,  stated  to  him  suc- 
cinctly her  difficulty  in  hand.  Oliver  examined  her  papers, 
asked  many  questions,  and  then  gave  his  opinion  that  it  was 
a  doubtful  case. 

"  But,  as  there  have  been  decisions  in  favor  of  cases  scarcely 
more  promising  than  yours,"  he  added,  "  I  think  I  should 
advise  you  to  proceed  to  litigation  with  this  Sykes.  It  being 
a  clear  case  in  right,  although  without  substantial  evidence  in 
law,  there  is  a  hope  for  you." 


EDITH     HALE.  425 

"  But  if  I  should  lose  the  case,"  inquired  Edith,  "  I  should 
have  to  defray  the  expenses  of  my  suit  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliver,  "  the  cost  could  not  be  drawn  from  the 
defendant." 

"  Then,"  said  Edith,  "  it  will  be  in  vain  for  me  to  think  of 
litigation  ;  for  I  am  very  poor  in  my  own  property,  and  have 
not  a  dollar  to  spend  in  that  way." 

"  That  need  not  deter  you,  for  I  will  engage  to  carry  on 
the  suit  upon  my  own  expense,  if  you  fail  of  obtaining  favor- 
able judgment,"  he  said,  his  face  flushing  slightly,  for  he  felt 
an  embarrassment  in  offering  to  confer  a  favor. 

Edith  raised  her  eyes  upon  him,  through  tears,  and  was  too 
much  affected  to  give  words  to  her  acknowledgments. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  while  the  suit  is  in  process,"  said  Oliver, 
who  seemed  desirous  of  changing  the  current  of  thought  as 
quickly  as  possible,  "  may  I  inquire  what  course  you  propose 
to  pursue  in  regard  to  your  present  residence  ?  " 

"  I  would  rather  inquire  of  you  what  is  best  for  me  to  do. 
This  man  has  warned  me  to  leave  the  house  by  to-day ;  has 
he  power  to  oblige  me  ?  " 

"  Xo ;  but,  if  you  lose  the  case,  he  can  exact  of  you  rent 
from  the  time  of  his  notice  to  you  to  leave  the  premises ;  and, 
as  that  would  be  inconvenient,  I  should  advise  you  to  abandon 
the  house  at  once.  Have  you  no  friends  in  this  vicinity,  with 
whom  you  can  reside  at  present  ?  " 

"  I  have  an  uncle,  my  mother's  brother,  who  is  but  late 
returned  from  a  residence  of  many  years  abroad,"  replied 
Edith. 

36* 


426  EDITH     HALE. 

"  That  is  very  fortunate  for  you,"  said  Oliver,  "  as  it  will 
be  necessary  for  me  to  see  you  occasionally  about  your  case." 

"  My  uncle,"  said  Edith,  determined  that  he  should  derive 
no  false  impressions  of  her  circumstances,  "  has  returned  in 
destitution,  aud  is  incapacitated  for  labor  by  infirmity  ;  there- 
fore I  am  more  anxious  to  secure  my  just  dues,  as  I  have 
undertaken  to  provide  for  him." 

Oliver  sat  reflectively  now,  twirling  his  pen  between  his 
fingers. 

"  Were  I  a  friend  of  longer  standing,"  he  began,  at  length, 
"  I  should  feel  warranted  to  interest  myself  in  the  means  to 
which  you  look  for  this  support.  You  have  said  that  you 
have  but  little  property  in  your  own  right ;  and,  if  I  can  be 
of  any  service  to  you,  by  a  loan,  or  otherwise  —  " 

He  stopped,  for,  when  he  raised  his  eyes  to  hers,  and  saw 
the  expression  she  wore,  he  added  abruptly, 

"  You  are  not  disposed  to  trust  much  in  the  disinterested- 
ness of  my  friendship." 

"  From  what  do  you  derive  such  an  opinion?  "  asked  Edith, 
faintly  smiling. 

"  From  repeated  observation." 

"  Have  I  not  convinced  you,"  said  Edith,  "  before  this,  of 
my  appreciation  of  the  great  service  you  have  already  ren- 
dered me  ?  I  certainly  intended  to." 

"  I  do  not  refer  to  that,"  he  said,  "  but  rather  to  a  certain 
suspicion  of  the  truth  of  my  professions  of  real  interest  in 
your  welfare,  which  you  manifest  toward  me  on  all  occasions, 
unless  thrown  off  your  guard ;  I  am  led  to  think  that  this 


EDITH     HALE.  427 

manner  is  not  natural  to  you,  but  rather  the  result  of  false 
impressions  of  some  kind,  relating  to  me.  If  I  speak  with 
too  much  freedom,  you  must  pardon  me." 

"  You  are  not  wholly  correct,"  replied  Edith,  smiling  despite 
herself. 

"  At  least  in  the  larger  part,"  pursued  Oliver. 

"  I  have  no  less  faith  in  your  professions  of  friendship  than 
in  those  of  any  other  man  of  the  world,"  said  Edith. 

"  I  respect  your  caution,  for  I  can  easily  comprehend  how 
a  young  girl  —  an  orphan  and  unprotected  —  is  suspicious  of 
treachery.  I  only  wish  you  to  believe  me  your  sincere  friend, 
both  for  your  own  sake,  and  for  the  sake  of  your  late  friend 
and  protector,  whom  I  long  respected  and  loved." 

Edith  was  too  much  moved  to  reply ;  but  Oliver  knew  that 
he  was  not  quite  misunderstood  now.  As  she  arose  to  leave, 
he  said, 

"  I  will  take  your  future  address,  Miss  Hale,  for  I  may 
have  business  which  will  make  it  necessary  for  me  to  see  you 
before  you  come  in  here  again." 

Edith  hesitated,  for  she  preferred  that  this  information 
should  not  be  known  to  Oliver.  She  did  not  wish  him  to  visit 
her,  and  thus  win  her  affections,  to  throw  them  lightly  away, 
as  another  had  done  ;  and  she  had  seen  enough  of  the  world 
to  believe  that  a  man  of  his  high  position  would  never  really 
seek  one  without  family  or  fortune  for  a  more  serious  motive. 

"  You  can  address  me  by  letter,  simply  directed  to  this 
city,  if  you  please,"  she  said,  at  length. 

"  But  I  shall  wish  to  see  you  personally,"  said  Oliver. 


428  EDITH     HALE. 

"  The  case  \vill  require  very  close  attention,  and  I  shall  have 
business  \vith  you  which  cannot  well  be  communicated  by 
letter." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Edith,  "  you  can  make  an  appointment 
by  writing  to  me,  and  I  will  come  here  to  your  office." 

Oliver  looked  somewhat  disappointed  at  this  arrangement ; 
but  Edith  had  suddenly  assumed  too  much  dignity  to  warrant 
a  cross-examination. 

"  I  have  omitted,"  added  Edith,  "  to  express  my  gratitude 
to  you  for  your  unexpected  kindness  to  me  on  this  painful 
occasion,  and  for  your  offers  of  assistance  in  regard  to  my 
future  livelihood,  which  I  am  not  at  present  in  need  of  accept- 
ing ;  but  none  the  less  am  I  sensible  of  your  generosity." 

Oliver  arose  and  followed  her  to  his  door,  where  he  detained 
her  a  moment,  as  he  spoke  a  few  words  of  encouragement  and 
consolation,  in  his  own  characteristic  manner,  which  had  so 
much  impressed  Edith  from  her  first  interview  with  him.  He 
was  rewarded  by  such  a  look  of  gratitude  and  sweetness,  that  he 
could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  take  his  hat  and  accompany 
her  to  the  street,  leaving  his  office  in  charge  of  his  partner. 
When  there,  it  struck  him  suddenly  as  unfriendly  to  leave  her 
to  walk  alone  to  her  destination,  with  her  sad  heart,  amid  the 
jostling  crowd  ;  and,  before  a  second  thought,  he  had  offered 
to  attend  her  back  to  her  home,  refusing  to  hear  her  unwil- 
lingness to  trouble  him  further. 

When,  finally,  he  must  part  with  her,  his  conversational 
powers  seemed  to  have  suddenly  fled  ;  and,  pressing  her  hand 
rather  more  than  was  quite  fashionable,  he  bowed  awkwardly, 


EDITH     HALE.  429 

and  walked  away  in  a  direction  exactly  the  opposite  from  what 
he  had  intended.  And  Edith,  with  an  unusual  tremor  at  her 
heart  and  flush  upon  her  cheek,  was  wondering,  the  remainder 
of  that  trying  day,  in  which  she  went  forth  from  the  place 
of  many  associations  of  a  pleasant  and  painful  past,  why  so 
much  sadness  had  been  suddenly  lifted  from  her  heart,  when 
sorrow,  and  care,  and  privation,  all  unforeseen,  had  recently 
fallen  in  the  path  of  her  life. 


CHAPTEE    XXVIII. 

WONDERFUL. 

FROM  the  time  of  the  council  affairs  did  not  improve 
in  the  parish  of  Waterbury.  The  popularity  of  a  minister, 
always  of  a  precarious  nature,  seldom  regains  its  former 
strength  when  there  has  been  an  outbreak  of  so  much  mag- 
nitude, even  if  the  turbulence  subside  to  apparent  tranquillity. 
With  increased  solemnity  Mr.  Loomey  delivered  a  number 
of  discourses  from  various  pointed  texts  of  Scripture,  eluci- 
dating the  fact  of  the  persecutions  and  indignities  endured  by 
the  clergy  of  his  time.  The  uninitiated  hearer  would  have 
inferred  that  Mr.  Loomey,  the  very  exemplar  of  all  goodness, 
was  likewise  the  most  abused  of  men. 

The  evening  meetings  of  the  Dorcas  Benevolent  Society, 
resumed  with  the  winter  season,  did  not  receive  his  favor  at 
this  time.  They  encouraged  frivolity  and  lightness,  he  said ; 
and  he  refused  to  read  the  notices  of  their  recurrence  from  his 
pulpit  on  the  Sabbath.  He  would  read  them  at  the  meeting 
of  the  week. 

"  That,"  said  Father  Shaw,  on  being  told  of  it  by  Miss 
Leah,  "  is  certainly  straining  at  a  gnat,  when  I  should  n't 


EDITH     HALE.  431 

wonder  ef  he  was  swallowin'  some  sort  of  a  camel,  all  the 
time." 

"  He  is  a  minister,"  said  Miss  Leah,  "  and  we  must  not  be 
severe  in  our  judgment." 

"  Minister  or  no  minister,"  said  Father  Shaw,  "  I  shall 
speak  what  I  think,  as  I  have  these  sixty  years ;  and  I  say 
the  cause  of  Zion  won't  prosper  so  long  as  such  men  as  this 
ere  Loomey  is  among  those  that  takes  care  on  't.  I  don't 
know  nothin'  really  bad  ag'in  him ;  and,  mind,  I  never  tell  all 
I  think  on  him.  We  want  —  the  churches  all  want  —  minis- 
ters who  are  in  their  work  with  all  their  hearts,  and  not  part 
way  in  't,  while  two  thirds  on  'em  is  in  the  world,  the  flesh, 
and  the  devil." 

"  They  would  tell  you  that  they  are  so  poorly  off  for  earthly 
support,"  said  Miss  Leah,  "  it  makes  them  of  necessity  more 
worldly  than  they  would  be  if  they  were  suitably  supplied 
with  the  means  of  a  livelihood  for  themselves  and  families." 

"  Well,  when  they  say  that,  I  an't  a  mind  to  dispute  'em  — 
at  least,  a  great  many  ministers.  Mr.  Loomey,  here,  has  a 
good  salary  for  a  single  man,  as  everybody  round  knows.  But 
it 's  true  that  ministers,  for  the  chiefest  part,  don't  get  paid 
well  enough.  One  reason  is,  there  's  too  many  meetin'-houses 
of  the  same  sort  in  no  great  circuit  of  miles.  Another  reason 
is,  people  get  to  thinking  that  ministers  are  not  fed  by  bread 
alone,  but  by  every  word  that  proceedeth  out  of  the  mouth 
of  the  Lord ;  which  is  a  mistaken  idee.  They  can't  find  money 
in  fishes'  mouths,  as  Peter  did,  and  they  need  things  got  by 
money  as  much  as  other  folks.  I  've  allers  been  in  favor  of 


432  EDITH     HALE. 

givin'  a  minister  a  good  salary,  and  then  pickin'  only  the 
best ;  such,  I  mean,  as  the  Scriptur  tells,  and  no  other." 

"  Many  churches  are  not  able  to  give  a  good  salary,"  said 
Miss  Leah. 

"  A  great  many  churches  are  abler  than  they  think  for ;  for 
it 's  cheaper  in  the  end  to  hire  a  good  minister,  and  then  pay 
him.  And  then,  where  there  rally  is  a  poor  society,  't  would 
be  much  more  doin'  God's  sarvice  for  rich  people  to  give  to 
such  ere,  than  to  help  send  so  many  missionaries  off  among 
the  heathen.  Let  one  half  of  the  money  that 's  sent  in  this 
way  out  of  our  country,  to  the  Lord  only  knows  where,  be 
saved  at  home  for  our  own  poor  pastors  and  churches,  and 
we  might  have  a  better  state  of  things  'mongst  us." 

"  It  is  certainly  a  matter  we  should  consider  with  serious 
reflection  and  prayer,"  said  Miss  Leah. 

"  I  stick  to  't,"  said  Father  Shaw,  "  that  ministers,  as  a 
gineral  thing,  are  to  be  pitied  nowadays,  as  •[  told  Mr.  Well- 
mont  once  ;  for,  with  all  their  faults,  they  an't  well-off  enough 
to  be  envied." 

"  Mr.  Wellmont  was  a  good  man,"  said  Miss  Leah,  with  a 
sigh.  "We  now  realize  more  fully  what  we  lost  when  he 
left  us." 

"  Yes ;  but  he  warn't  matched  right.  You  harness  up  a 
good,  stiddy  horse  with  an  upish  colt,  and  there  '11  be  high 
times  —  kicking  and  runnin',  and  all  sorts  of  mischief  to  the 
load  that 's  behind." 

Father  Shaw's  pity  for  ministers  was  brought  into  requisi- 
tion sooner  than  he  had  foreseen.  He  was  at  work  in  his 


EDITH     HALE.  433 

shop,  one  winter  afternoon,  not  long  after  this  conversation, 
when  he  was  visited  by  Miss  Leah  in  an  appearance  some- 
what remarkable  for  one  of  her  usual  precise  and  orderly 
manner. 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Leah  ?  "  asked  her  father,  looking 
upon  her  in  surprise. 

But  Miss  Leah  was  too  much  overcome  to  speak  for  some 
minutes.  She  sat  down  on  one  of  the  old  rush-bottomed 
chairs  of  the  shop,  and,  folding  her  hands  stiffly  over  her  very 
long  black-silk  apron,  actually  burst  into  tears.  After  all,  she 
looked  not  much  grieved. 

Father  Shaw  stood  up,  with  his  hammer  in  hand,  a  picture 
of  astonishment,  and  looking  scarcely  less  formidable  than 
Thor  with  his  hammer  Miolner. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  what  'tis  that's  happened?"  de- 
manded Father  Shaw  again. 

•  o 

"It  has  come,  at  last!"  sobbed  Miss  Leah,  using  her 
handkerchief  freely. 

"  What 's  come  ?  " 

As  Miss  Leah  vouchsafed  no  explanation,  Father  Shaw 
continued, 

"  Has  the  cider  come  to  vinegar  ?  or  the  cream  come  to 
butter?  or  what  upon  arth  is  it  that's  come  —  the  devil 
himself?" 

"  My  day  is  come,"  spoke  Miss  Leah. 

"  I  don't  know  any  more  now  about  it  than  ever,"  said  her 
father,  striking  his  hammer  upon  a  nail,  with  emphasis. 

Miss  Leah  drew  herself  up,  and  even  condescended  to  turn 
37 


434  EDITII     HALE. 

around  and  bestow  a  patronizing  glance  upon  the  little  look- 
ing-glass behind  her,  which  had  hung  in  that  same  spot  for 
more  than  thirty  years.  As  she  withdrew  her  eyes  somewhat 
reflectively,  she  said,  in  a  deep  voice,  which  startled  Father 
Shaw  anew : 

"  Yes  ;  a  very  strange  circumstance  has  come  about." 

"  How  ye  talk!  wuss  and  wuss!  "  exclaimed  Father  Shaw, 
angrily.  "  Have  you  turned  to  be  crazy,  or  a  fool  ?  " 

"  I  have  had  an  offer  of  marriage,  father ! "  now  announced 
Miss  Leah. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  rejoined  her  father,  with  a  most  provoking 
indifference,  after  intelligence  of  such  rare  importance.  "  I 
thought,  for  sartin,  some  dreadful  thing  had  befallen  ye." 

"  Father  !  how  can  you  make  so  light  of  a  matter  of  such 
consequence  ?  "  said  Miss  Leah,  in  her  most  solemn  manner. 

"  You've  made  dark  on't  here  long  enough,  and  it's  high 
time  I  made  light  of  such  nonsense." 

"  Nonsense !  "  repeated  Miss  Leah,  in  a  tone  of  rebuke. 

"I  don't  care  what  'tis,"  said  Father  Shaw,  bestirring 
things  about  him,  with  evident  impatience. 

"Didn't  you  know  he  had  been  here,  father?"  Miss 
Leah's  voice  was  softer  now. 

"  He  ?  —  Who  ?     How  should  I  know  who  he  is  ?  " 

"  Father  !  "  said  Miss  Leah,  solemnly  and  reverently,  "  it 
is  a  minister!'" 

"  Not  a  minister  offered  himself  to  you,  Leah  ?  "  rejoined 
Father  Shaw,  in  a  voice  which  betrayed  as  much  interest  as 
even  Miss  Leah  could  desire. 


EDITH     HALE.  435 

"  It  is  even  so.  I  knew  that  all  my  past  life  of  sacrifice 
and  strife  for  the  right  would  not  end  in  nothing.  My 
reward  is  at  the  door,  knocking  now." 

"  Well,''  said  Father  Shaw,  sternly,  "  if  it  comes  in  the 
shape  of  a  minister,  I  won't  let  him  in.  He  may  knock  till 
he  wears  his  knuckles  out,  afore  I  '11  open  my  door.  I  'd  a 
plaguy  sight  druther  you  'd  marry  a  man  that 's  driven  nails, 
and  sich  like,  all  his  life,  like  me,  than  to  marry  a  minister. 
I  've  no  opinion  of  'em  for  husbands,  at  all.  They  're  allers 
poor  as  church-mice ;  allers  have  no  continuin'  city,  and  for 
everlastin'ly  in  trouble." 

"  Everybody  is  called  to  more  or  less  trouble,"  said  Mi.ss 
Leah.  "  The  more  need  have  they  who  endure  so  many 
crosses  of  some  one  to  help  them  along  in  life." 

"  I  an't  a-goin'  to  help  'em  in  that  way,"  said  her  father. 
"  I  shan't  let  any  of  my  hard  arnings  go  to  support  one  of 
them  are  lazy-bones." 

"  0,  father !"  said  Miss  Leah,  "but  a  short  time  since, 
you  were  telling  me  what  a  hard  time  good  ministers  had, 
and  now — " 

She  could  not  go  on ;  but,  rising  with  great  stateliness, 
with  her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth,  walked  out  of  the  shop 
into  the  house. 

"  Xow,  what  in  plague  has  all  this  come  for  ?  "  said  Father 
Shaw,  to  himself,  as  he  drove  his  hammer  vigorously.  "  My 
Leah  get  married !  at  this  time  of  life,  too !  What  would 
become  of  me !  and,  more  'n  all,  what  would  become  of 
her,  ef  she  should  really  marry  a  minister  !  " 


436  EDITH     HALE. 

The  next  question  hud  suggested  itself  several  times 
before,  but  he  felt  too  much  disturbed  to  ask  it  — 

"  Who  is  this  ere  minister,  that's  been  such  a  fool  as  to 
offer  himself  to  Leah  ?  Ef  I  'd  only  kept  in  a  little,  I  s'pose 
she  'd  ha'  told  me,"  he  added. 

In  the  evening,  when  he- went  in  to  his  supper,  Miss  Leah 
had  nearly  recovered  her  habitual  appearance,  though  her  face 
was  considerably  flushed,  which  might  possibly  have  resulted 
from  her  having  prepared  the  meal  over  an  oak-wood  fire ; 
and,  when  she  poured  the  tea,  her  hand  was  not  so  steady  and 
direct  with  the  straightforward  purpose  as  usual. 

Father  Shaw  did  not  condescend  to  allude  to  what  had 
passed ;  neither  did  Miss  Leah. 

"  I  guess  it 's  a-goin'  to  storm,"  he  remarked,  as  he  poured 
his  tea. 

"  0,  no ! "  said  Miss  Leah ;  "  I  think  it  will  be  pleasant 
to-morrow." 

"  Humph  !  "  thought  Father  Shaw.  "  Everything  is  mighty 
pleasant,  all  at  once ;  but  it  an't  pleasant  to  me." 

"  I  met  Maria  Weston,  as  I  was  goin'  to  the  store,  to-day, 
and  she  looked  amazin'  pale  and  poorly,"  he  said,  after  a  long 
pause. 

"  Poor  child !  I  pity  her,"  replied  Miss  Leah,  in  an  un- 
usually softened  tone. 

"  So  I  've  said,  all  along  ;  but  you  never  said  so  afore." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Leah,  a  little  nervously,  stirring  the 
spoons,  as  though  looking  for  something,  "  I  still  think  she 


EDITH     HALE.  437 

has  done  very  wrong.  But  it  is  a  hard  case,  and  I  hope 
you  will  try  and  exert  your  influence  to  have  people  use  her 
as  mercifully  as  possible,  consistent  with  the  dictates  of  con- 
science." 

•  Father  Shaw  looked  upon  her  in  surprise.  But  a  short 
time  previous,  she  had  expressed  herself  in  the  most  decidM 
manner  against  the  erring  girl.  Miss  Leah,  as  all  who  had 
known  her  long  and  well  could  testify,  was  not  unkind  at 
heart,  but  she  was  often  betrayed  into  very  strong  righteous 
indignation. 

But  now  all  things  to  Miss  Leah  appeared  anew,  in  the 
reflection  of  that  soft,  auroral  light,  which,  at  this  late  hour, 
had  fallen  upon  her  soul.  The  harshness  and  angular  points 
of  her  nature  were  being  smoothed  away  by  a  magical  influ- 
ence ;  for 

"  Such  is  the  Dower  of  that  sweet  passion, 
That  it  all  sordid  baseness  doth  expel." 

Love  made  her  generous,  tender,  and  forgiving  —  even  to  a 
poor,  fallen  girl,  who,  but  late,  had  won  her  mercy  only  from 
strict  conscientiousness. 

On  the  next  day,  which  proved  to  be  bland  and  pleasant, 
as  Miss  Leah  had  foreseen,  Father  Shaw  was  summoned  into 
the  sitting-room,  to  meet  a  visitor  —  the  reverend  visitor,  who 
had  made  an  appointment  with  Miss  Leah  to  come.  It  was 
a  comfortable  room,  although  wearing  strong  characteristics 
of  the  minds  who  presided  there.  In  the  large  fireplace  (for 
Father  Shaw  was  a  decided  enemy  to  all  stoves)  burned  sev 
87* 


438  EDITH     HALE. 

eral  hickory  logs,  on  one  side  of  which  dozed  a  handsome  cat, 
of  ancient  respectability  in  the  family.  Through  the  windows 
opening  to  the  south  streamed  the  winter  sun  across  a  few 
trim-looking  house-plants,  down  to  the  plain  carpet,  of  home 
manufacture.  The  rocking-chairs  on  either  side  of  the  fire- 
place were  large,  old-fashioned,  and  cumbrous,  composed  of 
wood  enough  to  fashion  half  a  dozen  slender  chairs  of  the 
modern  pattern.  In  one  of  these  chairs  ^at  Father  Shaw. 
In  the  opposite  one,  Mr.  Lund,  the  minister,  who  once  said, 

"  I  have  left  six  parishes  already,  because  I  preached  the 
truth  ;  and  I  am  ready  to  leave  six  more,  if  need  be." 

"  I  don't  see  what  upon  arth  is  the  reason  that  you  ministers 
—  most  on  ye,  at  least — are  allers  in  such  a  peck  of  trouble," 
said  Father  Shaw,  when  he  had  listened  rather  ungraciously  to 
his  visitor,  for  a  half-hour. 

"  I  have  had  a  very  hard  time  in  life,"  said  Mr.  Lund ;  "  it 
seems  to  me  never  a  man  had  a  harder  about  here.  I  com- 
menced life  strong  in  faith,  and  believing  I  was  called  to  do  a 
great  work  in  the  world.  I  thought,  as  I  looked  about  me, 
and  saw  so  much  gin  and  error  in  the  world,  I  could  be  an 
instrument  in  accomplishing  a  great  change  where  I  labored. 
But  I  have  been  persecuted,  deceived,  and  disappointed.  And 
last  year,  when  my  wife  died,  and  left  me  and  my  seven  chil- 
dren, I  felt  that  the  sum  of  my  calamities  was  footed.  The 
very  .money  which  you  and  Major  Oliver  gave  me,  at  the 
time  of  the  council  here,  I  took  to  defray  my  wife's  funeral 
expenses." 


EDITH     HALE.  439 

"  What  did  you  put  it  to  that  use  for?"  inquired  Father 
Shaw. 

"I  had  no  other  money;  my  society  refused  to  pay  me, 
and  I  was  about  leaving." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  stay  ?  "  said  Father  Shaw. 

"  I  was  n't  liked  generally,  for  the  reason  that  I  spoke  the 
truth  as  my  conscience  dictated." 

"  Well,"  said  Father  Shaw,  "  I  've  allers  spoke  out  what 
I  thought  was  truth,  and  I  an't  any  worse  off  now  than  I 
ever  was.  You  should  have  set  out  on  your  own  hook  in 
life,  as  I  did,  and  preached  to  people  whenever  ye  felt  like  it, 
as  I  have." 

"  I  have  lived  to  see  half  a  century,"  continued  Mr. 
Lund ;  "  and,  on  looking  back  on  all  the  calamities  I  've 
gone  through,  I  sometimes  think  it  had  been  better  for  me 
if  I  had  never  been  born." 

"  Like  enough,"  said  Father  Shaw ;  "  and  it  sartainly 
would  have  been  better  for  you  ef  you  had  n't  been  a  min- 
ister, for  such  ere  men  as  you  and  I  should  n't  begin  to  git 
a  livin'  by  bein'  dependent  on  other  folks.  We  an't  gut 
smooth,  oily  tongues  enough.  I  s'pose,  ef  I  had  set  out  to  be 
a  minister,  I  should  have  put  people  out  so  much,  wherever 
I  went,  I  should  have  been  flat  on  the  ground  by  this 
time." 

Mr.  Lund  sat  silently  now,  with  his  long  fingers  in  his  sil- 
vered hair,  and  his  chin  resting  upon  his  palm.  As  he 
looked  on  the  bright  coals  he  sighed,  and  the  tears  stole  out 
till  they  trickled  down  over  his  white  cravat. 


440  EDITH     HALE. 

"  Well,"  said  Father  Shaw,  at  last,  after  pinching  the  top 
of  his  nose  between  his  thumb  and  forefinger  vigorously,  "  I 
don't  see  what  ye  're  drivin'  at." 

Mr.  Lund  now  dropped  his  hand,  and,  in  a  voice  somewhat 
constrained,  said,  "  I  came  to  ask  your  consent  to  marry  Miss 
Leah." 

"  Pshaw ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Lund,  misconceiving  the  ejaculation, 
"  Miss  Shaw,  I  mean.  I  conversed  with  her  upon  the  subject 
yesterday,  several  hours,  and  she  seemed  not  unfavorable  to 
my  proposals.'' 

"  What  are  yer  proposals  ?  Where  in  creation  have  ye 
gut  a  place  to  take  a  wife  to  ?  "  inquired  Father  Shaw. 

"  It  don't  agree  with  me  to  preach,"  said  Mr.  Lund,  "  and 
I  have  thought  it  would  be  much  better  for  me  to  work  on  a 
farm." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  farmin'  ?  and  where  are  you 
goin'  to  farm  ?  " 

"  I  know  all  about  it,  for  I  was  brought  up  on  a  farm.  I 
thought,  as  you  could  n't  well  spare  Miss  Leah,  and  as  you 
have  some  land  here  you  mostly  let  every  year,  perhaps  we 
might  make  some  arrangement  —  " 

Mr.  Lund  faltered,  for  he  felt  that  he  was  venturing  upon 
slippery  ground.  The  examination  of  his  qualifications  for  a 
minister  did  not  disturb  his  equanimity  so  much  as  this 
interview. 

"  The  seven  children  !  "  said  Father  Shaw,  after  looking 
hard  into  the  fire  for  some  time. 


EDITH     HALE.  441 

"  My  oldest  is  married,  and  my  two  next  are  going  to  be  ; 
my  fourth  child  is  away  as  a  teacher,  almost  the  year  round ; 
the  youngest  is  with  an  aunt  who  has  adopted  her  for  her  own ; 
and  my  son  John  I  thought  I  should  want  on  the  farm,  while 
my  Jane  might  help  Miss  Leah.  They  are  handy,  good  chil- 
dren, and  never  make  trouble." 

"  It  seems  you  'ye  gut  it  all  cut  and  dried,"  said  Father 
Shaw. 

"  I  hope  you  will  make  no  objections  to  this,  as  your 
daughter  seems  interested  in  my  behalf;  and  we  all  know  that 
her  judgment  is  second  to  no  woman's  in  the  land." 

"  Umph  !  woman's  judgment  an't  good  for  much  when 
an  offer  to  marry  is  consarned.  Leah  allers  thought  a  deal 
of  ministers,  while  I  never  did." 

"  But  I  propose  to  be  a  farmer,  for  the  most  part,"  said 
Mr.  Lund. 

"  Ef  you  was  an  out-and-out  minister,  I  would  not  hear  a 
word  to 't." 

"  But,  now,  you  will  give  your  consent  ?  "  continued  Mr. 
Lund,  anxiously. 

"  How  do  you  think  two  such  folks  as  you  and  I  are  goin' 
to  live  under  the  same  ruff?" 

"  We  have  always  lived  under  the  same  heaven ;  and 
expect,  at  last,  to  live  in  the  same  home." 

"  It  seems  to  me  it 's  an  amazin'  foolish  thing  for  you  to 
think  of  marryin'  agin.  I  did  n't,  arter  my  wife  died." 

"  But  you  had  Miss  Leah  to  take  care  of  you ;  and  that 
is  all  I  ask  now." 


442  EDITH     HALE. 

"  You  're  too  old  to  work  on  a  farm,  when  you  an't  been 
used  to  workin'." 

"  I  am  not  so  much  older  than  Miss  Leah  as  to  make  a 
disparity  of  years  between  us.  Let  us  see ;  your  son  in 
Boston  is  the  youngest.  How  old  is  your  daughter,  now  ?  " 

"  She 's  of  age  —  ask  her,"  said  Father  Shaw,  with  one  of 
his  curious  looks. 

"  I  think  I  '11  go  and  talk  with  Miss  Leah  about  these 
things,"  said  Mr.  Lund,  looking  very  much  encouraged.  "  I 
conclude  I  may  tell  her  that  you  will  not  withhold  your 
consent  ?  " 

"  Tell  her  what  you  're  a  mind  to,"  said  Father  Shaw ; 
"  you  're  both  on  ye  plaguy  fools  !  " 

After  Mr.  Lund  went  out,  Father  Shaw  sat  a  long  time 
looking  into  the  fire.  At  last,  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  heard 
the  sound  of  cheerful  voices  in  the  next  room,  "  He  tells 
such  a  grievous  story,  I  s'pose  I  shall  have  to  take  pity  on 
him.  He 's  allers  had  a  good  character,  and,  ef  he  's  been 
unforternate,  he  an't  to  be  despised  'cause  he  's  a  minister. 
I  'm  gittin'  old,  and  bime-by  I  shan't  want  to  have  so  much 
care  of  my  things  ;  and,  ef  he 's  a  mind  to  do  what 's  right,  I 
don't  know,  on  the  whole,  but  it  will  be  a  purty  good  thing  for 
me.  Then,  when  I  come  to  die,  Leah  would  be  better  off 
here  with  somebody  to  take  care  on  her.  One  thing  I  'in  sure 
on ;  she  '11  find  her  match  in  this  ere  man ;  she  can't  make 
him  train  as  she  does  other  folks,  and  I  'm  glad  on  't.  And 
he  '11  find,  too,  I  guess,  that  she 's  a  leetle  different  from 
women  in  general.  One  has  got  jest  about  as  much  care  in 


EDITH     HALE.  443 

'em  as  t'  other.  So  I  guess,  on  the  whole,  I  '11  make  up  my 
mind  to  make  the  best  on  't ;  though  it 's  provokin'  to  think 
that  a  body  that 's  ever  been  in  a  pulpit  should  git  a  grip  on 
one  half  of  my  property,  at  last,  arter  all  I  've  said  about  the 
ministers." 

A  few  days  after  these  events,  Miss  Leah  visited  Maria 
Weston  for  the  first  time  since  her  disgrace.  She  did  not 
come  with  reproof,  as  the  trembling  girl  had  concluded,  on 
being  summoned  to  meet  her ;  but  she  spoke  such  friendly 
words,  that  Maria  felt  more  truly  repentant  than  ever  before. 
She  had  once  been  a  pupil  in  a  Sabbath-school  class  taught 
by  Miss  Leah,  and  that  time  of  her  innocence  and  happi- 
ness was  distinctly  recalled  before  her  memory.  Miss  Leah 
said  little ;  but  that  little  fell  upon  Maria's  heart  with  a 
touching  power,  for  kind  words  were  especially  dear  to  her 
now  that  she  so  seldom  was  noticed  by  others. 

Had  she  been  addressed  harshly  and  reproachfully,  she 
could  have  steeled  her  heart  and  brooded  over  her  wrongs 
in  a  rebellious  silence.  Now,  she  was  overcome  entirely. 
Unknown  to  Maria,  Miss  Leah  left  a  sum  of  money  with 
Mrs.  Linn  to  defray  her  expenses  for  some  time,  in  case  her 
own  resources  failed.  That  night,  Maria  sat  beside  her 
babe,  and  cried  all  the  long,  cold  hours,  as  she  had  done 
many  a  night  before.  She  could  not  lay  her  head  upon  her 
pillow,  for  it  seemed  lined  with  thorns,  which  pierced  even 
to  her  burning  brain.  So  long  and  painfully  had  she  dwelt 
upon  her  disgrace  and  her  sin,  all  things  around  her  now 


444  EDITH     HALE. 

seemed  as  a  reproach;  and  more  than  all  the  forbearing 
kindness  of  those  whom  she  respected  and  feared. 

Sometimes  her  fearful  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the 
quick  sobs  of  her  infant  boy  as  he  slept,  disturbed  by 
some  dream,  while  the  tears  escaped  from  between  the 
soft,  light  lashes,  and  moistened  the  little  face.  Then  she 
would  strain  him  to  her  bosom,  and  murmur  low,  soothing 
words. 

"  Maria  will  take  care  of  little  Iddy,"  she  would  mur- 
mur softly,  while  she  clasped  the  tiny  hands  within  her 
own. 

The  child  had  never  been  named,  for  Maria  anxiously 
waited  for  the  time  when,  far  away  from  present  scenes,  it 
should  bear  the  name  of  its  father,  as  had  been  often  promised 
to  her.  But  she  called  the  babe  oftenest  "  Iddy,"  from  an 
association  with  the  outcast  Ishmael,  which  had  thus  been 
shortened  to  a  familiar  word.  Maria  loved  her  child  as  she 
had  never  loved  earthly  thing  before,  notwithstanding  the 
sorrow  and  shame.  Every  silken  hair  of  its  head  was  most 
precious  in  her  eyes ;  and  for  its  weal  she  would  willingly 
have  sacrificed  her  very  life-blood. 

Chancing  to  glance  on  the  wall  of  the  room  before  her,  hex- 
attention  was  at  once  arrested.  Although  the  lamp  burned 
low,  and  so  flickeringly  as  to  cast  a  pale,  spectral  light  over  the 
chamber,  she  saw  distinctly  the  shadow  of  her  infant's  head, 
and  above  it  a  larger  shadow,  as  of  some  uncertain  object  hov- 
ering there  unsteadily.  She  started  and  looked  wildly  around 
upon  her  child,  but  nothing  unusual  appeared.  Still  she  saw 


EDITH     HALE.  445 

the  large  shadow  moved  upon  the  wall,  sometimes  up  the 
ceiling  till  it  stood  directly  over  her  own  head,  then  swiftly 
darted  back  again  upon  the  shadow  of  the  little  sleeper,  as  if 
it  pressed  heavily  over  it  till  it  was  blotted  out.  A  recollec- 
tion of  a  tale  in  an  old  book  she  had  read  in  her  childhood, 
about  vampires  extracting  the  blood  of  little  children,  unseen 
by  human  eye,  rushed  over  her  mind  with  a  chilling  power. 

She  sprang  up,  and  was  about  to  snatch  the  child  in  her 
arms,  when  she  heard  a  low  knock  upon  the  window,  just 
behind  her  bed.  She  stood  still  in  affright  a  moment ;  but  a 
second  knock,  with  the  sound  of  a  suppressed  voice,_  caused 
her  to  go  to  the  window  without  farther  demur.  Putting 
aside  the  curtain,  she  saw  a  figure  standing  upon  the  roof  of 
the  shed,  which  joined  the  house  in  that  .spot,  while  a  lantern, 
partially  shaded  by  one  hand,  was  held  before. 

"  Open  this  window  a  minute ;  I  have  something  to  tell 
you,"  said  a  low  voice. 

Maria  durst  not  disobey  that  voice ;  so,  throwing  a  shawl 
over  her  child,  she  raised  the  window  a  little  way,  while  her 
heart  was  beating  almost  audibly. 

"  I  was  scared  near  to  death  when  I  first  saw  your  shadow," 
she  whispered. 

"  I  did  n't  dare  wait  till  morning,"  said  the  voice,  "  for 
fear  somebody  would  know  it ;  and  I  happened  to  think  of 
this  window." 

"  0,  dear  !  I  haven't  slept  a  wink  to-night,  I've  felt  so 
wretchedly.  I  wish  I  was  dead  !  " 

"  I  dare  say ;  for  I  ,saw  Leah  Shaw  go  away  from  here 
88 


446  EDITH     HALE. 

yesterday,  and  I  could  n't  wait  till  I  had  seen  and  warned  you 
once  more.  Did  she  ask  you  questions  ?  " 

"  No ;  she  was  very  kind,  and  offered  to  do  anything  for 
me  she  could." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  and  next  she  will  want  you  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  the  whole  affair  to  her.  But  now  I  tell  you  again 
to  be  on  your  guard." 

"  Have  you  made  up  your  mind  when  to  go  away  from 
here  with  me  and  our  poor  child  ?  "  asked  Maria,  trembling 
violently,  for  it  was  certain  she  stood  very  much  in  awe  of 
that  muffled  figure  there. 

"  No ;  and  don't  you  keep  continually  asking  me  about  it. 
I  know  my  own  business  best,  and  it  won't  do  for  you  to 
attempt,  even  think,  to  dictate  me,"  said  the  whispering 
voice,  coming  in  almost  hissingly,  like  the  noise  of  a  snake. 

Maria  began  to  sob  heavily. 

"  Hush  !  they  '11  hear  you.  Attend  to  me,  and  not  so  much 
to  yourself.  If  they  want  you  to  go  to  any  of  their  houses, 
don't  you  go.  You  '11  only  be  come  over  with  their  salve,  and 
make  a  fool  of  yourself.  And,  if  you  once  speak  the  first 
word  that  will  make  them  think  it  is  me,  remember  you  are 
ruined  forever.  I  shall  never  see  you  again,  and  I  shall  deny 
everything,  and  of  course  nobody  will  believe  you.  You  have 
not  a  friend  that  will  stand  by  you.  So,  you  see,  you  had 
better  submit  to  what  I  say  as  quietly  as  possible.  When  I 
get  ready  to  take  you  away,  I-  shall  go,  and  not  before." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  get  along  in  this  way  much  longer," 
said  Maria.  "  The  money  you  gave  me  before  I  was  sick  i 


EDITH     HALE.  447 

all  gone  but  the  last  dollar ;  that  I  have  saved  day  after  day, 
afraid  to  use  it ;  and  these  good  people  here  can't  afford  to  do 
anything  for  me  without  pay." 

"  You  can  go  to  work  again  in  the  factory,  by  this  time." 

"  How  can  I  ?  "  said  Maria,  very  sadly.  "  There  would  be 
nobody  to  take  care  of  the  baby,  if  I  was  gone.  Mrs.  Linn 
has  as  much  as  she  can  do  to  get  along  with  her  work  and 
take  care  of  her  husband,  with  what  help  I  can  get  time  to 
give  her." 

"  Hang  the  baby !  "  said  the  voice,  impatiently. 

Maria  started  as  though  the  angry  exclamation  had  been 
intended  in  its  full  significance. 

"  0,  dear  !  "  she  moaned ;  "  it 's  a  poor  little  thing,  and 
ought  n't  to  suffer  for  the  sins  of  its  parents,  I  'm  sure.  I 
try  to  take  just  as  good  care  of  it  as  I  can,  with  Mrs.  Linn 
telling  me  how ;  but  sometimes  I  am  afraid  it  will  freeze  to 
death,  for  I  did  n't  dare  spend  my  last  money  to  buy  any 
more  wood,  as  I  'in  saving  it  to  help  go  towards  my  board. 
If  I  could  get  anything  to  do  here,  I  would  work  day  and 
night ;  but  people  don't  have  much  work  to  put  out  in  this 
place ;  and,  when  they  do,  they  think  I  can't  do  it  well,  with 
my  baby." 

"  The  child  will  have  to  be  put  in  an  asylum  ;  then  you  can 
go  to  work  again." 

"  In  an  asylum  ! "  repeated  Maria.  "  You  always  said  you 
would  take  us  both  away  from  here,  and  then  we  should  all 
have  a  home  together !  " 

Here  she  began  to  cry  again  bitterly. 


448  EDITH     HALE. 

"  Hush !  "  said  the  voice.  "  I  meant  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  to  send  it  away  till  I  got  ready  to  leave  here  with 
you." 

"  I  never,  never  can  have  my  poor  little  Iddy  torn  away 
from  me  to  be  put  out  where  he  will  have  nobody  to  love  him ! 
We  '11  both  die  first !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  will  threaten,  just  to  get  me  to  support  you 
here  without  work." 

"  I  '11  do  anything  I  can  —  God  knows  I  will !  —  but,  if  I 
can't  get  work  to  do,  it  seems  hard  to  leave  me  and  your  child 
to  suffer." 

Maria  spoke  this  with  hesitation,  for  she  durst  not  dwell 
with  emphasis  upon  her  wrongs. 

"  I  Ve  got  a  few  dollars  by  me  now,"  said  the  other,  "  and  I 
will  let  you  have  them  if  you  '11  promise  to  be  saving,  for  you 
won't  get  any  more  money  from  me  for  a  long  time.  I  have 
other  uses  for  it.  Don't  you  burn  more  wood  than  you  can 
possibly  help.  It  is  coming  spring,  when  you  can  do  without 
altogether;  and  you  must  avoid  buying  milk,  or  any  such 
thing.  You  can  drink  water,  and  so  can  the  child,  with  such 
other  stuff  as  Mrs.  Linn  gets  up.  But  remember  carefully 
what  I  have  said  about  their  coming  here  and  questioning 
you.  Once  let  a  word  out,  and  you  are  done  !  " 

"  I  '11  try  and  do  the  best  I  can,"  sobbed  Maria ;  "  but  it 
would  be  such  a  great  comfort  to  me,  when  I  am  here  so  un- 
happy, to  have  you  tell  some  time  when  you  think  we  may 
be  married." 


EDITH     HALE.  449 

"  I  have  told  you  I  did  n't  know  when,"  said  the  voice, 
angrily.  "  Shut  down  your  window  now." 

Maria  hesitated,  for  she  would  fain  have  obtained  the  least 
consolation  in  her  misery.  Was  no  word  of  pity,  of  en- 
couragement, to  fall  upon  her  ear,  she  thought,  after  all  hef 
suffering ! 

_V  few  pale  streaks  of  the  dawn  were  visible  along  the 
eastern  horizon,  and,  as  the  figure  turned  away  to  cliinb  down 
the  roof,  a  cock  in  a  neighboring  barn  crew  loudly.  Once, 
twice,  thrice,  it  crowed,  and  the  figure  had  stolen  out  of  the 
yard  without  pausing  to  even  look  back  toward  the  poor, 
trembling  girl  again. 

Maria  closed  the  window,  with  a  heavy  groan,  and  found 
herself  in  darkness  and  gloom ;  for  a  draught  of  air  had 
extinguished  her  feebly-burning  lamp.  Ltterly  exhausted, 
she  threw  herself  upon  the  bed  beside  her  child,  and  soon  fell 
into  an  unquiet  slumber. 
38* 


CHAPTEK    XXIX. 

ME.  WELLMONT. 

MR.  WELLMONT  continued  to  increase  his  popularity  in  his 
new  sphere  of  labor ;  for  he  had  become  a  man  who  united  the 
persuasive  power  of  an  orator  to  the  wisdom  of  a  tactician 
and  the  genial  friendliness  of  a  Christian.  But  he  was  called 
to  many  trials  resulting  from  the  opposing  tastes  of  his  wife. 
Wherever  she  appeared  among  his  people,  he  expected  she 
would  pull  down  what  he  was  laboring  to  build  up,  and  other- 
wise neutralize  his  influence.  He  secretly  trembled  whenever 
she  opened  her  lips,  as  was  shown  by  his  asides,  — "  Don't,  my 
dear,"  "  Be  careful,  Bertrade,  or  you  will  wound  their  feelings," 
"  Pray,  recollect  yourself,  and  not  be  so  imprudent,"  &c. 

Woe  to  the  peace  of  that  husband  or  wife  who  must 
endure  the  perpetual  misery  of  a  life  with  a  companion  whose 
unguarded  words  and  acts  compel  such  involuntary  cautions 
on  all  occasions ! 

But  Mrs.  Wellmont  was  not  the  occasion  of  all  the  inqui- 
etude experienced  by  her  husband  at  this  time.  He  had  been 
disappointed  in  his  new  people.  He  missed  the  sterling  truth 
and  plain  common  sense  of  Father  Shaw,  the  high  intellect- 


EDITH     HALE.  451 

ual  cultivation  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Humphrey,  the  old-school 
hospitality  and  courtesy  of  Major  Oliver,  and  the  general 
intelligence  of  many  members  of  Waterbury  church.  He 
had  thought  these  characteristics  too  common  to  demand  con- 
sideration ;  but,  when  he  found  that  not  a  man  of  his  new 
society  was  thoroughly  conversant  with  any  kind  of  literature, 
and  that  there  was  not  generally  a  sensible  appreciation  of  his 
best  discourses,  he  began  to  correct  some  of  his  long-estab- 
lished impressions.  They  were  almost  entirely  men  deeply 
engrossed  in  business,  and  came  into  the  solemn  feasts  with 
brains  busied  with  the  thousand  details  of  money-making, 
so  that  they  had  no  preparation  for  the  reception  of  the  sub- 
lime philosophy  or  the  poetry  of  the  Scriptures.  They  wanted 
only  sound  and  searching  practical  truth,  from  which  warnings 
might  be  derived  by  every  man  for  his  neighbor ;  and  that 
a  large  and  flourishing  church  might  be  built  up  as  speedily 
as  they  could  build  a  block  of  buildings,  or  sell  one  hundred 
thousand  dollars'  worth  of  goods.  Some  of  Mr.  Wellmont's 
most  elaborately  prepared  sermons  met  with  no  response  from 
a  major  portion  of  this  people,  who  aroused  from  their  naps 
at  the  delivery  of  a  period  in  a  higher  voice,  and  thought 
it  was  all  very  fine.  But,  when  he  more  directly  appealed 
to  the  feelings  of  his  hearers,  without  so  much  pausing  to 
establish  a  laborious  and  logical  conviction  of  the  truth  in 
hand,  he  gained  signal  attention. 

Mr.  Wellmont  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  solidity  of 
mind  manifested  by  those  who  led  in  the  social  religious  exer- 
cises was  generally  inferior  to  that  exhibited  in  the  meetings 


452  EDITH     HALE. 

to  which  he  had  been  accustomed.  They  delivered  their  re- 
marks in  a  polite,  unobjectionable  style  of  language,  just  as 
they  addressed  their  customers  at  their  places  of  business ; 
but  never  was  there  heard  anything  which  indicated  acquaint- 
ance with  the  best  authors  of  religious  or  other  literature. 
Indeed,  this  was  the  utmost  that  could  be  expected  from  men 
who  struggled  unflinchingly,  day  and  night,  to  make  a  fortune, 
pausing  only  to  read  the  daily  papers,  or  the  organ  of  their 
denomination,  occasionally  a  political  speech,  and,  perhaps, 
a  missionary  magazine  one  Sunday  evening  out  of  four,  or 
a  few  pages  of  some  religious  book. 

But  all  this  was  more  than  compensated  in  Mrs.  Well- 
mont's  estimation.  Her  elegant  furniture  and  wardrobe  were 
now  not  "wasted  on  the  desert  air."  Xeither  were  her  aristo- 
cratic tendencies.  She  could  find  a  plenty  of  ladies  who  could 
talk  and  act  to  her  heart's  content.  Time,  however,  made  Mr. 
"Wellmont  acquainted  with  another  and  worthier  class  among 
his  people  —  those  who  preferred  plainness  and  sobriety  of 
living.  These  were  the  pillars  of  his  church,  on  whom  he 
leaned  for  counsel  and  real  friendship,  and  without  whom 
he  would  have  found  his  situation  far  from  enviable. 

That  this  people,  as  a  whole,  was  a  fair  sample  of  .all  city 
parishes,  Mr.  Wellmont  learned  by  observation  was  not  the 
case ;  but,  being  so  newly  gathered  from  various  sources,  it 
could  not  be  expected  to  harmonize  at  once.  But  Mr.  "\Vell- 
mont  had  already  accomplished  much  good  among  them,  in 
gradually  weakening  the  distinctions  among  the  people,  under 
the  influence  of  fervent  piety ;  for  nothing  so  much  estab- 


EDITH     HALE.  453 

lislies  a  democracy  in  a  church  as  the  operation  of  vital 
religion.  In  such  a  state,  the  mere  conventionalities  of  life 
dwindle  into  insignificance. 

As  Mr.  Wellmont  reviewed  his  labors,  he  was  grateful  for 
the  success  that  had  crowned  his  efforts,  notwithstanding  all 
discouragements  ;  but  he  could  not  close  his  eyes  to  the  truth 
that  his  untiring  labors  had  greatly  reduced  his  health. 

It  was  with  something  of  his  old  emotions  of  pleasure  that 
'he  received,  about  this  time,  a  letter  from  Waterbury,  bring- 
ing with  it  a  delightful  reminder  of  spring  in  the  country,  and 
of  the  pure,  wholesome  kindness  of  a  social  atmosphere.  It 
was  from  Miss  Leah,  who  desired  him  to  come  to  her  father's, 
and  unite  her  in  marriage  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lund.  She  had 
also  invited  Mr.  Loomey  to  be  present ;  but  she  declared  her 
wish  that  the  ceremony  should  be  performed  by  himself. 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  and  he  felt  happier  than 
for  a  long  time  before.  He  invited  his  wife  to  accompany 
him,  though  without  the  least  expectation  of  her  compliance. 
With  a  satirical  laugh,  she  replied  that  she  had  no  idea  of 
attending  such  an  affair  as  the  wedding  of  a  Waterbury  old 
maid. 

"  Besides,"  she  added,  with  a  later  reflection,  "on  the 
evening  you  propose  to  leave,  Mr.  Phanuel  receives  company 
to  meet  his  future  bride.  I  would  not  fail  of  being  there  ; 
and  certainly  I  should  think  that  you  would  like  to  go,  just 
to  see  that  I  say  nothing  unbecoming  your  wife." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  go  to  Mr.  Phanuel's,  now,"  replied 
Mr.  Wellmont. 


454  EDITH     HALE. 

"  I  presume  not,  as  you  are  so  unused  to  his  elegant  style. 
The  splendor  of  his  new  mansion  bewilders  you,  and  you  turn 
with  a  sigh  to  the  memory  of  '  the  cot  beneath  the  hill,'  in 
which  you  first  saw  the  light,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

"  No,  not  so  much  does  his  splendid  home  sadden  me,  as 
the  memory  of  the  past  connected  with  his  family,"  said  Mr. 
Wellmont,  apparently  undisturbed  by  his  wife's  sarcasm.  "  I 
never  enter  the  presence  of  that  man,  but  what  I  recall  the 
picture  of  a  heart-broken  wife,  forcibly  carried  away  to  a 
mad-house  ;  of  little,  beautiful  Bessie  dying  of  grief  for  the 
separation  j  of  my  entering  the  rnad-house,  a  few  weeks  later, 
to  see  the  corpse  of  the  mother  —  the  most  awful  and  utterly 
despairing  face  of  death  on  which  I  ever  gazed ;  the  hands 
locked  so  closely,  with  the  nails  torn  into  the  flesh,  no  human 
force  could  wrench  them  apart ;  the  long,  dark  hair,  which  I 
remember  was  once  so  beautiful  and  abundant,  nearly  all 
pulled  out  of  the  head,  hair  by  hair ;  and  her  last  words, 
'  Take  me  home  to  my  children ! '  seemingly  chiselled  upon  the 
fallen,  rigid  lips  — " 

<l  Pray,  cease,  if  you  have  pity  for  me  !  "  interrupted  Mrs. 
Wellmont.  "  You  are  so  cruel,  if  you  like  !  " 

"  If  the  relation  of  these  things  seem  cruel  to  you,  Ber- 
trade,  how,  think  you,  the  hard,  actual  experience  of  all  this, 
and  much  more  never  known  to  the  world,  fell  upon  the  sensi- 
tive heart  of  the  victim  ?  " 

"  But  Mr.  Phanuel  has  always  been  very  gentlemanly  and 
kind  to  us,"  continued  Mrs.  Wellmont,  somewhat  subdued  by 
her  husband's  words. 


EDITH     KALE.  455 

"  True  ;  I  am  aware  of  his  great  liberality,  and  for  which. 
I  hope  I  am  not  ungrateful.  Therefore  it  is  I  do  not  turn 
my  face  utterly  away  from  such  a  man,  as  I  should  feel 
tempted  to  do,  were  it  otherwise.  1  feel,  too,  a  deep  interest 
in  the  future  welfare  of  his  children,  so  early  deprived  of  the 
good  influences  of  a  mother,  and  taught  to  desecrate  her 
memory." 

"  They  will  have  now  another  mother,  much  more  accom- 
plished than  their  own,  and  learn  to  forget  the  first." 

"  That  woman,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  is  perfectly  heartless. 
I  saw  it  the  first  time  I  met  her  as  a  visitor  at  31  r.  Phan- 
uel's,  in  Waterbury.  In  all  points  of  real  excellence  she  is 
inferior  to  his  late  wife,  and  cares  no  more  for  those  children 
than  for  their  father." 

"  I  hear  she  seems  very  much  attached  to  Mr.  Phanuel," 
said  Mrs.  Wellmont,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  I  know  it  is  not  so,  although  such  may  be  the  appear- 
ance ;  for  she  is  a  woman  of  cultivated  intellectual  tastes, 
and  likes  men  of  brilliant  talent.  But  Mr.  Phanuel's  money 
is  too  great  a  temptation  for  her  to  resist.  She  will  marry 
him  because  a  better  chance  of  disposing  of  herself  does  not 
occur." 

"  You  may  go  your  way,  and  I  will  go  mine,"  concluded 
Mrs.  Wellmont.  "  I  dare  say  you  will  be  happier  at  old 
Father  Shaw's  than  you  would  be  with  me  at  Mr.  Phanuel's." 

As  Mr.  Wellmont  seldom  found  leisure  for  absence,  he  con- 
cluded to  return  by  way  of  his  mother's  home.  He  had  not 
seen  his  mother  for  some  time,  and  he  yearned  to  hear  her 


456  EDITH     HALE. 

voice  once  more.  In  her  last  letters  to  him  she  had  betrayed 
despondency,  and  he  feared  that  her  affairs  had  become  much 
embarrassed.  Never  had  he  found  himself  able  to  repay  all 
the  loans  received  from  her ;  for  the  sums  he  had  occasionally 
saved  for  this  purpose  he  had  been  ultimately  obliged  to  ex- 
pend in  housekeeping,  which  his  wife  had  rendered  monthly 
more  expensive.  A  small  amount  of  money,  which  now  re- 
mained to  him,  he  rejoiced  in  being  able  to  take  with  him  for 
her.  He  could  not  find  words  to  tell  his  wife  of  his  intention 
to  visit  his  mother,  for  he  felt  in  no  mood  to  endure  the  sar- 
castic comments  she  would  be  likely  to  offer.  Little  had  he 
once  dreamed  that  a  day  like  this  would  come,  when  he 
could  not  speak  his  mother's  name,  sacred  to  him  by  all  love 
and  reverence,  without  being  wounded.  Once,  since  his  res- 
idence in  the  city,  his  mother  had  made  him  a  short  visit ; 
and  he  had  been  so  much  pained  by  her  reception  from  his 
•wife,  he  could  never  ask  to  have  the  visit  repeated. 

"  I  hope,  Bertrade,  you  will  get  along  happily  in  my  ab- 
sence," said  Mr.  Wellmont,  when  he  was  about  to  leave,  not 
knowing  well  what  to  say,  yet  wishing  to  have  the  parting 
friendly. 

"  Of  course  I  shall,"  replied  Mrs.  Wellmont,  without  lift- 
ing her  eyes  from  her  embroidery.  Still  he  lingered  with  his 
hand  upon  the  door,  waiting  for  a  single  kind  word  to  carry 
with  him. 

"  Is  there  anything  from  the  country  you  would  like  to 
have  me  bring  you  ?  "  he  continued,  in  a  gayer  tone. 


EDITH     HALE.  457 

"  Nothing  ;  unless  it  be  some  of  the  verdancy  of  the  people 
about  there." 

Mr.  Wellraont  dropped  his  head,  and  his  shoulders  bent 
slightly,  as  though  they  were  anticipating  another  fall  of  an 
invisible  lash.  He  had  first  thought  his  wife  in  her  severe 
jesting  mood;  now  he  felt  that  she  had  spoken  the  grave  truth. 

"  I  hope  you  will  ever  bear  in  mind,  Bertrade,"  he  said, 
very  sadly,  "  it  is  a  cause  of  abiding  regret  to  me  that  I  have 
been  the  means  of  bringing  you  into  so  much  unhappiness. 
If  you  should  outlive  me,  I  hope  you  will  be  happy  enough 
to  make  up  for  all  the  sacrifice — " 

"  Don't  be  so  croaking ! "  interrupted  Mrs.  Wellmont ; 
"  you  will  certainly  miss  the  cars,  if  you  wait  here." 

He  looked  upon  her  once  more  through  his  tears  ;  but,  re- 
ceiving no  encouragement  for  his  meditated  parting  kiss,  went 
out  with  a  sorrowful  "  good-by,"  broken  in  two  by  the  shut- 
ting of  the  door. 

Mr.  Wellmont  had  nearly  reached  Waterbury,  when  he 
unexpectedly  encountered  an  old  friend.  The  first  words  he 
heard  were, 

"  My  dear  reverend  sir !  This  is  too  much  pleasure !  I  am 
overjoyed  to  see  you !  In  the  language  of  the  poet, 

'  I  could  weep, 

And  I  could  Laugh  ;  I  am  light  and  heavy — welcome  — 
A  curse  begin  at  the  very  root  of  his  heart, 
That  is  not  glad  to  see  thee  ! '  " 

He  turned  in  surprise,  and  saw  before  him  Mr.  Solomon 
Acre,  not  pale  and  haggard,  as  might  have  been  predicated 


458  EDITH     HALE. 

from  his  last  interview,  but  round  and  ruddy,  and  as  full  of 
poetry  and  heartiness  as  ever  in  his  life. 

"  This  meeting  is  certainly  not  less  a  pleasure  to  me,"  said 
Mr.  Wellmont ;  "  and  the  more  so  that  I  find  you  in  such 
excellent  appearance.  How  does  this  happen  ?  " 

"  Thank  yourself,  sir !  That  good  advice  of  yours  acted 
like  a  charm,  —  a  'sovereign  balm,'  I  would  say.  My  eyes 
•were  opened  with  the  eye-salve  of  reason ;  since  which  time, 
I  have  seen  all  things  in  a  new  light.  Everything  which 
once  was  bottom  upward  looks  now  in  propria  persona. 
And  I  have  been  prospered  by  your  primal  instrumentalit}-." 

"  I  heard,  some  time  after  your  departure,"  said  Mr. 
Wellmont,  "  of  your  finding  a  favorable  location.  Did  you 
continue  there  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  settled  my  uncle  with  me,  and  in  time  he  got 
quite  comfortable,  what  with  good  care,  and  painting  virgins 
upon  a  plenty  of  white  linen  aprons,  and  working  in  a  garden 
of  mine.  He 's  now  another  man." 

"  And  you  have  the  happiness  of  thinking  you  have  done 
him  this  good,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  I  've  done  myself  good,  too  ;  for  I  reckon  I  am  doing  a 
right  smart  business  out  there.  Own  acres  and  acres  of  west- 
ern land ;  been  speculating  in  townships,  and  not  in  house-lots 
only,  as  they  do  in  these  parts.  Don't  wish  to  boast ;  for,  as 
the  poet  says  : 

'  Who  knows  himself  a  braggart, 
Let  him  fear  this,  for  it  -will  come  to  pass, 
That  every  braggart  shall  be  found  an  ass.' 


EDITH     HALE.  459 

But,  then,  you  know  it  is  comfortable,  after  past  misfortune,  to 
find  one's  self  in  a  mending  condition." 

"  Have  you  been  to  Waterbury  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  Yes ;  and  I  visited  Lucinda  —  Claudine,  I  should  have 
said." 

Mr.  Wellmont  looked  inquiringly,  to  encourage  him  to  pro- 
ceed. 

"  She  an't  married,  and,  what 's  better,  an't  likely  to  be,  as 
I  can  discover." 

"  You  have  hope  yet,  then?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you  !  The  western  girls  are  a  heap  smarter 
and  finer  every  way  than  these  delicate  Yankee  ladies ;  they 
an't  afraid  of  anything  —  work,  spiders,  or  catamounts." 

Mr.  Wellmont  said  nothing,  but  smiled  a  little. 

"  Mr.  Pickering,  they  say,  is  running  against  the  breakers 
in  his  business,  and  would  have  given  up  long  ago  had  it  not 
been  for  his  son-in-law ;  but,  now  he  's  dead,  he  will  have  to 
wind  up  soon.  His  family  are  so  extravagant,  that  he  earns 
money  to  put  into  a 'bag  with  holes.'  Good  heavens,  Mr.  Well- 
mont ! "  now  suddenly  exclaimed  Mr.  Solomon,  interrupting 
himself,  "  you  look  out  of  health.  I  was  so  glad  to  see  you, 
and,  being  a  little  near-sighted,  I  did  n't  notice  how  pale  and 
thin  you  are.  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  little  out  of  health  at  present,  but  not  so  much  so 
as  I  was  a  few  months  since,"  replied  Mr.  Wellmont. 

"  You  must  give  up  labor  for  a  while,"  said  Mr.  Solomon, 
without  withdrawing  his  anxious  gaze.  "  Won't  your  people 
send  you  abroad  ?  " 


460  EDITH     HALE. 

Mr.  Wellmont  shook  his  head. 

"  I  am  not  able  to  undertake  so  long  a  journey,  in  health 
or  means,"  he  replied. 

"  I'll  plan  for  you,"  continued  Mr.  Solomon,  reflectively; 
"  go  home  with  me  to  the  west.  The  change  of  scene  and  air 
would  mend  you  wonderfully.  Ask  leave  of  absence,  and  I 
will  bear  all  your  expenses." 

"  Your  kindness  merits  my  heartfelt  gratitude,"  said  Mr. 
Wellmont,  much  affected. 

"  Say  nothing  of  that. 

'  0,  call  not  to  my  mind  -what  you  have  done  ! 
It  sets  a  debt  of  that  account  before  me, 
Which  shows  me  poor  and  bankrupt  even  in  hopes  !  ' ' 

"  I  should  be  glad  of  a  change,  certainly,  and  I  will  think 
of  your  proposition,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont.  "  You  will  stop 
here  with  me  ? "  he  added,  as  he  saw  that  they  had  now 
reached  Waterbury. 

"  I  have  to  go  further.  Where  shall  I  meet  you  again?" 
replied  Mr.  Solomon. 

Arranging  a  place  of  meeting  within  the  following  week, 
they  separated,  while  Mr.  Solomon  exclaimed  after  Mr.  Well- 
mont, as  the  cars  moved  on,  "  God  bless  you,  and  give  you  a 
good  Sunday  to-morrow  !  " 

He  was  answered  by  a  bow  and  a  smile,  which  he  did  not 
soon  forget. 

As  Mr.  Wellmont  arrived  once  more  at  the  home  of  Father 
Shaw,  he  recalled  his  impressions  the  first  time  he  had 


EDITH     HALE.  461 

come  there,  in  comparison  to  what  he  now  experienced,  and 
deduced  the  common-sense  conclusion  that  it  is  not  wise  to 
judge  of  the  true  worth  of  people  by  first  appearances. 

Father  Shaw  met  Mr.  Wellmont  as  he  would  a  beloved  son. 
He  even  wept  over  him  when  he  saw  how  changed  was  his 
personal  appearance  under  the  inroads  of  disease.  Miss  Leah 
was  a  little  nervous  and  anxious,  but  else  very  much  as  she 
used  to  be.  Something  very  nearly  akin  to. pride  she  discov- 
ered when  she  presented  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Lund  to  Mr. 
Wellmont.  A  matronly  dignity  and  affection  had  already 
come  over  her,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  thought  these 
children  the  prettiest  she  had  ever  seen. 

"  I  'd  no  idee,"  said  Father  Shaw,  "  that  my  Leah  would 
ever  be  married.  It  fell  on  me  dreadful  amazin';  for  I 
did  n't  think  such  an  old  maid  could  ever  git  a  body  to  have 
her." 

"  I  should  have  thought  your  consent  would  have  been  the 
most  difficult  to  get  in  this  case,  as  Mr.  Lund  is  a  minister, 
Father  Shaw,"  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  with  a  significant  smile. 

"  I  know  he  is,"  said  the  old  man,  pinching  the  top  of  his 
nose,  "but  what  is  to  be  must  be,  you  know;  and,  ef  it's 
ordered  that  I  must  have  one  of  them  are  in  my  family,  I  '11 
try  and  make  the  best  on  't ;  but  I  '11  tell  you  what,  it 's  plaguy 
hard  work  to." 

"  Ah,  well ! "  said  Mr.  Wellmont,  "  I  have  no  doubt  but 
this  union  will  prove  a  blessing  to  all  concerned." 

At  the  ceremony  there  were  none  present  but  family  friends. 
Mr.  Loomey  had  left  home,  to  remain  over  the  Sabbath  in  tho 
39* 


EDITH     HALE. 

next  parish.  Nothing  unusual  occurred,  save  the  silence  of 
Father  Shaw.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  on  any  such 
occasion,  he  had  no  words. 

The  following  day  was  one  of  the  beautiful  Sabbaths  of 
spring.  Mr.  Wellmont  beheld  the  morning  light  with  unspeak- 
able peace,  for  he  had  been  dreaming  of  his  mother,  and  his 
heart  was  yet  glowing  with  the  memory  of  the  meeting.  He 
had  beheld  her  in  the  vision  of  sleep,  as  with  the  gladness  of 
his  youth,  and  heard  her  words,  "  My  son,  you  have  come 
home  to  me,  at  last !  "  and  then  she  had  changed  into  the  like- 
ness of  the  sainted  mother  of  Edith  Hale.  He  had  reached 
forth  his  hand  to  hers,  when  he  awoke,  and  with  difficulty 
persuaded  himself  it  was  all  a  dream. 

"  In  a  short  time,"  he  reflected,  "  I  shall  have  met  my 
blessed  mother,  and  the  hours  will  seem  long  until  then." 

Upon  the  hills,  in  the  background  of  the  village,  the  cattle 
were  grazing  quietly.  The  birds  never  sung  so  sweetly.  And 
the  sound  of  flowing  waters  in  the  distance  seemed  like  the 
tide  of  life  ebbing  far  out  into  eternity. 

When  the  church-bells  rang  to  call  the  people  to  worship, 
Mr.  Wellmont  aroused  from  his  revery,  and  went  forth  to  the 
familiar  altar  of  his  ministrations.  With  less  firmness  than 
formerly  he  ascended  the  pulpit  steps ;  and,  as  he  occupied 
once  more  his  old  place,  he  bowed  his  head  and  prayed,  less 
oy  language  than  by  the  yearning  aspirations  of  his  spirit. 

In  hearing  of  the  voice  that  so  often  had  impressed  their 
hearts,  the  house  was  solemnly  hushed  and  attentive,  and  the 
eyes  of  many  closed  through  tears.  After  the  other  prelim- 


EDITH     HALE.  463 

inary  exercises,  Mr.  Wellmont  announced  his  text,  which  was  : 
"  And  he  was  transfigured  before  them  :  and  his  face  did  shine 
as  the  sun,  and  his  raiment  was  white  as  the  light.  *  *  * 
Then  answered  Peter  and  said  unto  Jesus,  Lord,  it  is  good  for 
us  to  be  here." 

"  Lard,  it  is  yoodfor  us  to  le  here!  "  repeated  Mr.  Well- 
mont, with  impressive  solemnity.  lie  was  so  much  affected, 
he  paused  a  moment  to  recover  himself.  He  had  returned  to 
his  old  friends,  not  to  claim  their  admiration  for  the  progress 
he  had  made,  but  with  a  heart  full  of  love,  and  their  familiar 
faces  moved  his  soul.  Fervently  did  he  desire  to  be  instru- 
mental in  pointing  their  thoughts  heavenward.  As  he  pro- 
ceeded to  address  them,  the  burden  of  his  soul  increased, 
although  he  strove  to  suppress  his  emotion.  Every  word  he 
uttered  came  from  his  heart  with  plainness  and  familiarity, 
yet  with  a  seriousness  no  listener  could  resist. 

"While  unfolding  the  magnitude  and  beauty  of  his  theme, 
heaven  seemed  to  disclose  its  exceeding  glories  to  his  spiritual 
vision ;  such  glories  as  are  only  pictured  in  the  sublime  visions 
of  the  Apocalypse,  and  in  the  strains  of  the  divine  poet  of  the 
fall  of  man,  and  which  were  almost  communicated  by  him  to 
the  senses  of  the  absorbed  and  weeping  listeners. 

Well-nigh  could  they  hear 

' '  heaven  opening  wide 
Her  ever-during  gates,  harmonious  sound  ! 
On  golden  hinges  moving." 

Suddenly  he  ceased.  A  deathly  pallor  spread  over  his  face 
like  a  white  cloud ! 


464  EDITH     KALE. 

"  My  friends  !  "  he  faintly  uttered,  "  I  can  say  no  more !  " 
He  sat  down,  and  fell  back  heavily,  with  closed  eyes.  Con- 
sternation succeeded ;  it  was  thought  he  had  fainted.  Dr. 
Humphrey  and  some  others  hastened  to  him  anxiously.  They 
spoke  to  him,  but  no  sound  or  motion  was  returned.  He  was 
dead. 


CHAPTER    XXX, 

PLEASURE   AND   PAIN. 

WIIEN  Edith  recounted  the  state  of  her  affairs  to  her  uncle, 
he  manifested  less  interest  than  she  had  supposed  ;  and,  when 
she  spoke  of  the  possibility  of  being  compelled  to  resign 
the  home  which  was  rightfully  her  own,  and  was  so  strongly 
endeared  to  her  by  many  associations  with  her  deceased 
friends,  he  replied,  that  he  should  not  so  much  regret  the  loss 
on  his  own  account,  for  he  had  seen  enough  of  the  world  to 
be  thoroughly  convinced  that  superior  fortune  turned  people's 
hearts,  even  against  their  best  friends. 

"  If  all  this  estate  should  come  to  you,  Dithy,"  he  added, 
"you  would  soon  give  the  cold  shoulder  to  your  poor  old 
uncle  ;  and  I  should  be  left  friendless,  alone  in  this  land  which 
is  now  a  strange  one  to  me.  I  have  no  home,  no  friends  who 
own  me,  but  you  ;  and  if — " 

He  could  not  proceed,  but  turned  aside  to  hide  his 
emotion. 

"  Dear  uncle,"  said  Edith,  "  I  wish  I  could  persuade  you 
to  be  less  distrustful  of  me.  One  of  my  strongest  reasons  for 
wishing  to  get  possession  of  thia  property  is  that  I  may  be 


466  EDITH      HALE. 

enabled  to  provide  you  a  more  comfortable  home,  where  you 
will  feel  secure  from  want,  and  will  not  have  to  labor  in  your 
advanced  years;  therefore  I  am  more  grateful  to  Mr.  Oliver 
for  undertaking  my  case  so  generously." 

"  Don't  trust  too  much  to  his  generosity,"  said  her  uncle  ; 
"  men  are  rarely  so  magnanimous  as  this  lawyer  appears  to  be 
without  a  secret  prospect  of  reward.  I  dare  say  he  sees 
further  towards  the  bottom  of  the  case  than  he  tells  for,  and 
so  plans  to  enlist  your  gratitude  in  season  to  secure  the  prize 
at  last." 

Edith  was  silent ;  her  uncle's  suspicion  corresponded  so 
nearly  with  her  own,  that  she  could  not  attempt  to  vindicate 
Oliver's  motives. 

"  Let  it  result  as  it  will,"  she  said,  after  a  painful  reflec- 
tion, "  I  am  certain  that  nothing  can  influence  me  to  forget 
the  duty  and  affection  which  I  owe  you." 

"  We  '11  see,"  returned  her  uncle,  incredulously.  "  I  've 
known  more  of  the  world  than  you  have." 

"The  sorest  disappointment  that  I  feel,"  said  Edith,  "is, 
that  I  cannot,  at  present,  render  you  the  aid  I  had  hoped." 

Her  uncle  told  her  that  she  need  not  feel  anxiety  for  him 
at  present,  as  he  had  secured  a  situation  in  a  large  mercantile 
house  in  the  city ;  and  his  salary,  though  small,  would  be 
sufficient  to  provide  for  his  simple  wants.  He  also  counselled 
Edith  to  expend  the  little  money  she  had  laid  by  after  the 
death  of  her  parents  in  the  conclusion  of  her  proposed  term 
of  attending  school,  that,  in  case  of  her  future  poverty,  she 
might  be  thoroughly  qualified  to  earn  a  livelihood  by  teaching. 


EDITH      HALE.  467 

To  this  Edith  assented,  and  immediately  took  up  her  residence 
at  the  institution  in  which  she  was  a  pupil ;  while  her  uncle 
abandoned  the  cottage  for  humble  lodgings  near  his  business, 
on  account  of  his  lameness,  as  he  informed  her,  which  pre- 
vented him  from  walking  any  great  distance  without  incon- 
venience. 

On  every  Saturday  afternoon  Edith  went  to  see  her  uncle, 
to  interest  herself  in  his  welfare ;  but  she  could  not  persuade 
him  to  return  any  of  her  visits.  Such  an  appearance  as  his, 
he  said,  would  affect  her  standing  among  her  fine  friends ;  and 
the  greatest  favor  he  could  render  her  was  to  keep  entirely 
out  of  sight  of  those  with  whom  she  associated. 

"  Were  I  rich,  and  in  sables,  and  velvets,  and  diamonds,  it 
would  be  worth  the  while  for  you  to  show  me  off,"  he  added, 
in  reply  to  her  renewed  invitations ;  "  but,  as  it  is,  Dithy, 
you  are  a  good  girl  to  take  so  much  pains  for  me,  already." 

Shortly  after  the  opening  of  the  summer  term,  the  matron 
of  the  family  having  been  taken  ill  and  removed,  another  lady 
came  to  supply  the  situation.  With  school-girls  a  trifling 
event  is  often  magnified  into  an  affair  of  importance,  to  be 
discussed  until  a  new  one  succeeds.  In  this  case  the  appear- 
ance of  the  new  matron,  who  presided  at  one  of  the  tables, 
was  such  as  to  elicit  more  than  ordinary  attention.  Her  deep, 
plain  mourning  garb,  the  settled  dejection  of  her  countenance, 
which  possessed  considerable  claim  to  beauty,  and  her  low, 
sad  voice,  arrested  the  notice  of  the  most  careless  who  sur- 
rounded her.  Edith  was  absent  on  the  day  of  her  arrival, 
but,  meeting  her  at  the  tea-table  on  that  evening,  she  was 


468  EDITH     HALE. 

struck  with  a  new  and  unaccountable  interest  in  the  stranger. 
That  she  strongly  resembled  some  familiar  face  she  was 
certain ;  but,  not  having  yet  learned  her  name,  she  could 
arrive  at  no  definite  conclusions.  The  lady  seemed  absorbed 
with  inward  grief,  so  that  the  kindness  of  Edith's  heart  was 
at  once  enlisted  in  her  behalf,  and  later  in  the  evening  she 
could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  seek  her  in  her  private  parlor. 

"  Excuse  me  if  this  be  an  interruption,  but  I  thought  you 
might  feel  lonely  to-night,  it  being  the  first  you  spend  here," 
said  Edith,  hesitating  to  intrude  upon  the  presence  of  the 
stranger. 

"  You  are  kind,"  said  the  lady,  offering  her  a  seat  beside 
her  own. 

"  I  observe  you  are  in  mourning,  like  myself,"  continued 
Edith. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  lady,  brokenly ;  "  I  have  lost  all  now." 

In  answer  to  Edith's  look  of  interrogation,  she  continued  : 
"  The  death  of  an  only  son,  a  short  time  since,  has  left  me 
a  childless  widow.  He  was  my  pride,  my  hope  in  life,  but 
was  suddenly  stricken  down  in  the  midst  of  a  career  of  use- 
fulness." 

"Who  was  your  son?"  inquired  Edith,  in  increasing 
interest. 

"  He  was  a  settled  minister  in  a  distant  city,  and  died  while 
preaching  in  the  pulpit  of  the  parish  of  his  former  labors. 
I  had  long  anticipated  much  from  him,  for  he  was  my  last 
earthly  hope,  and  I  had  spared  no  sacrifice,  no  exertions,  in 
his  behalf.  And,  when  he  completed  hig  studies  and  became 


EDITH     1IALE.  469 

established  in  life,  I  felt  that  he  had  more  than  answered  my 
expectations.  I  would  gladly  have  gone  and  lived  with  him, 
to  have  encouraged  and  aided  him ;  but,  after  his  marriage, 
I  saw  him  only  once.  Alas !  "  —  she  stopped,  for  she  was 
reminded  that  she  was  addressing  a  stranger,  and  the  secret 
wounds  of  her  heart  must  not  be  disclosed. 

"  There  is  his  picture,"  she  resumed,  opening  a  miniature 
under  the  light  of  the  astral-lamp,  "  that  was  taken  for  his 
wife  just  before  marriage,  but  he  afterwards  sent  it  to  me." 

Edith  looked  upon  that  picture  long  and  attentively.  It 
was  the  same  which  she  had  once  seen  in  the  hands  of  another, 
causing  her  so  much  pain.  But  now  her  countenance  did 
not  change,  nor  did  she  exhibit  any  emotion  other  than  a 
stranger's  curiosity.  Yet  how  lifelike  it  was,  as  if  it  were 
just  ready  to  address  her  with  words  of  love  !  The  flowing 
hair,  the  thoughtful,  handsome  eyes,  the  smile,  half  of  sadness, 
half  of  joy,  were  all  perfect  —  too  perfect  to  be  ever  seen  by 
the  bereaved  mother  without  tears. 

"  That  is  a  good  likeness,"  remarked  Edith,  as  she  returned 
the  picture.  "  I  knew  Mr.  Wellmont,  your  son." 

"Is  it  possible.?"  rejoined  Mrs.  Wellmont.  "Are  you 
from  the  city  in  which  he  resided  ?  " 

"  No,  madam ;  I  formerly  resided  in  Waterbury." 

"And  your  name?  " 

"  Is  Edith  Hale." 

The  hue  of  confusion,  such  as  Mrs.  Wellmont's  face  rarely 
wore,  now  mounted  rapidly  to  her  brow,  while  her  thin  lips 
were  colorless  as  death. 
40 


470  EDITH     HALE. 

"  Yon  were  aware  that  I  was  his  mother  before  seeking  me 
here  ?  "  inquired  the  lady,  after  a  bitter  pause ;  for  the  thought 
that  Edith  had  come  to  her  from  motives  of  mere  triumph  was 
now  suggested. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  Edith  replied,  "  I  did  not  learn  your 
name  until  now." 

The  cause  of  Mrs.  Wellmont's  emotion  was  not  wholly 
understood  by  Edith,  for  she  did  not  know  that  Mr.  Wellmont 
had  been  chiefly  influenced  by  his  mother  in  discontinuing  his 
attentions  to  her.  She  was  therefore  spared  an  embarrassment 
which  Mrs.  "Wellrnont  felt  keenly. 

"  Your  son  somewhat  resembled  you,"  renewed  Edith,  who 
attributed  the  lady's  emotion  to  her  overcoming  grief. 

"  He  was  like  me  less  in  heart  than  in  appearance,  and  was 
altogether  too  pure  for  earth,"  said  Mrs.  Wellmont. 

"  Yes,  he  was  a  good  man,"  said  Edith,  as  calmly  as  if  speak- 
ing of  an  ancient  relative.  "  I  recollect  him  with  gratitude, 
for  he  assisted  me  when  my  circumstances  in  life  were  so 
humble  that  few  in  his  position  would  have  noticed  me  at  all. 
As  the  slightest  return  I  can  make,  I  shall  take  pleasure 
in  rendering  any  assistance  to  you,  madam,  which  is  in  my 
power,  while  I  remain  near  you." 

Mrs.  Wellmont  could  not  reply,  but  her  eyes  were  eloquent 
with  gratitude  through  tears. 

"  I  hope  you  will  soon  feel  at  home  herewith  as,"  continued 
Edith,  rising  to  leave,  after  other  conversation. 

"  Solitude  is  better  for  a  mourner,"  replied  Mrs.  Well- 
mont. "  This  place  can  never  seem  like  home  to  me." 


EDITH     HALE.  471 

Mrs.  Wellmont  no  longer  wondered  why  her  son  had  so 
loved  Edith,  for  her  intelligence  and  sweetness  of  manners 
could  not  fail  to  win  her  admiration.  In  vain  she  tried  to 
excuse  herself  for  her  unfortunate  influence,  by  a  recollection  of 
Edith's  former  inferior  position.  Now,  in  her  decline  of  years, 
with  her  health  and  strength  impaired,  Mrs.  Wellmont  found 
herself  in  poverty,  with  no  relative  on  whom  to  fasten  the 
most  distant  hope  of  receiving  assistance,  for  nothing  could 
have  been  more  repugnant  than  the  idea  of  applying  to  her 
son's  widow  for  aid.  On  this,  the  first  day  of  her  experience 
of  her  new  life,  her  prospect  had  seemed  cheerless  indeed ; 
the  duties  required  appeared  too  onerous  for  her  strength, 
and  too  humiliating  for  her  pride;  and,  had  it  not  been 
for  her  necessities,  she  would  have  repented  her  accept- 
ance of  the  place.  But,  now  that  she  had  been  so  kindly 
encouraged  by  a  stranger,  —  one,  too,  from  whom,  of  all 
others,  she  least  deserved  kindness,  —  a  little  brightness 
gathered  over  the  dark  horizon.  The  thought  that  one  whom 
her  son  had  loved  was  near  her  became  a  consolation ;  and 
nothing  seemed  so  pleasant  now  as  the  prospect  of  enjoying 
Edith's  society. 

Meanwhile,  Edith  sat  late  by  her  window  in  the  summer 
night,  and  communed  with  her  own  heart ;  for,  not  to  have  re- 
called the  past,  after  what  had  lately  transpired,  would  have 
been  impossible.  She  became  surprised  at  the  change  she 
had  experienced  since  her  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Wellmont. 
Then  it  seemed  impossible  that  life  would  ever  wear  a  bright 
or  hopeful  hue  for  her  again.  Now  she  saw  that  were  one  in 


4/2  EDITH     1IALE. 

all  respects  like  him  to  meet  her  with  the  offer  of  his  affec- 
tions, it  would  be  in  vain.  She  scarcely  realized  that  the 
scenes  through  which  she  had  passed,  the  expansion  of  her 
faculties  by  association  with  varied  minds  of  superior  cultiva- 
tion, and  with  the  activity  of  the  world,  had  brought  a  differ- 
ent ideal  to  her  thought;  and  yet  not  all  an  ideal,  for  there 
was  a  living  original  to  the  picture.  She  was  content  now,  as 
she  found  that  she  had  been  led  by  a  Providence  which  had 
proved  its  wisdom  and  goodness;  though,  when  she  had 
chosen  in  wilfulness  a  way  for  herself,  it  had  seemed  un- 
searchable and  without  mercy. 

Edith  proved  herself  a  true  friend  to  Mrs.  Wellmont,  as 
their  acquaintance  matured.  Beset  with  many  trials  in  her 
new  situation,  her  life  would  have  been  unpleasant,  indeed, 
had  it  not  been  for  Edith's  love  and  assistance. 

Whenever  Edith  could  persuade  Mrs.  Wellmont  to  go  out 
with  her,  it  was  a  rare  pleasure ;  for,  being  perfectly  familiar 
with  the  surrounding  places,  such  walks  proved  very  agree- 
able, as  well  as  beneficial,  to  her  friend.  Mrs.  Wellmont's 
natural  temperament  was  averse  to  the  confusion  of  a  city ; 
and  she  often  spoke  mournfully  of  the  quiet  and^beauty  of  the 
country,  in  contrast. 

"  Then  I  may  abandon  all  hope  of  getting  you  contented 
with  your  present  home,"  said  Edith,  on  one  occasion,  after 
such  a  walk. 

"  I  should  be  resigned  wherever  I  must  needs  be," 
replied  Mrs.  Wellmont ;  "  and  I  am  in  a  great  measure 
consoled  for  this  change  in  my  life  by  your  kind  attentions." 


EDITH     HALE.  473 

-"  For  my  own  part,"  said  Edith,  "  I  prefer  the  city  at 
least  two  thirds  of  the  year,  for  its  activity  and  variety ; 
and  I  think,  by  and  by,  you  will  become  accustomed  to  town 
life." 

"  Never  !  "  said  Mrs.  TVellmont,  sadly  ;  "  this  unceasing 
tumult  abstracts  all  peace  from  my  existence.  The  green 
fields,  the  stillness  and  luxuriant  comfort  of  a  retired  country 
home,  seem  now  to  me  like  heaven  upon  earth." 

"  Did  I  so  feel,  I  would  leave  here  at  once,"  said 
Edith. 

"  I  think  not,  my  dear  child,  if  you  were  in  advanced  years, 
with  no  other  way  to  obtain  your  daily  bread.  I  am  glad  and 
thankful  for  a  home  anywhere." 

One  Saturday  evening,  Edith  was  summoned  from  Mrs. 
Wellmont's  room,  whither  she  had  gone  after  a  day  of  unusual 
fatigue,  to  the  parlor,,  to  meet  her  uncle. 

"  Well,  Dithy,"  he  said,  upon  her  appearance,  "  you  did 
not  visit  your  old  uncle  this  afternoon,  as  usual." 

"  I  felt  very  sorry  that  I  was  obliged  to  be  engaged 
nearly  all  day,"  said  Edith ;  "  the  term  draws  to  its  close, 
and  my  duties  multiply  rapidly.  I  am  glad  that  you  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  come  and  see  me,  instead." 

"  I  could  n't  stay  away  very  well  this  time,  when  I  found 
you  did  not  come." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Edith  ;  "  and  I  hope  I  shall 
soon  be  able  to  repay  some  of  your  kindness." 

"  Dear  child,"  said  her  uncle,  with  unusual  feeling,  "  we 
40* 


474  EDITH    HALE. 

must  not  trust  much  in  our  hopes ;  they  are  unstable  as 
water." 

"  True,"  said  Edith  ;  "  but  it  is  pleasant  to  hope  'when  we 
are  planning  for  the  benefit  of  others,  to  say  nothing  of  our- 
selves." 

"  Dithy,"  spoke  her  uncle,  abruptly,  after  some  common- 
place observations,  "  you  have  known  what  it  is  to  be  what 
the  world  calls  poor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  have  been  very  poor,"  replied  Edith. 

"  What  did  you  trust  in,  then,  child  ?  " 

"  In  Heaven,"  replied  Edith,  reverently,  "  as  I  hope  I 
ever  do." 

"Do  you  think  that  such  a  trust  —  a  mere  speculative 
faith,  a  chimera  —  is  sufficient  to  sustain  you  through  what- 
ever chance  may  turn  up  in  your  lot  ?  Think  well.  Life,  you 
know,  is  made  up  of  all  sorts  of  trouble,  —  sharp  as  steel,  and 
hard  as  flint." 

"  I  know  in  whom  I  have  trusted,"  replied  Edith.  "  He 
has  promised  to  be  a  father  to  the  fatherless ;  to  help  all 
those  who  take  him  for  their  portion.  '  In  all  their  afflic- 
tion he  was  afflicted,  and  the  angel  of  his  presence  saved 
them.' " 

"  Well,"  said  the  old  man,  pulling  his  beard,  as  he  did 
when  peculiarly  interested,  "  I  have  no  objection  to  your 
deriving  all  the  happiness  from  imagination  which  is  possible. 
Rather  a  childish  business,  though !  " 

Edith  now  looked  very  sadly  upon  her  uncle,  in  reply  to 
which  he  laughed,  and  called  her  a  good  girl  with  some  fool- 


EDITH     HALE.  475 

ish  notions.  A  moment  later,  however,  his  face  was  composed 
into  the  look  it  had  worn  at  the  first,  which  was,  Edith 
thought,  a  little  new. 

"Well  do  I  remember,"  said  Edith,  "in  those  times  of  my 
life  when  I  have  been  cast  into  deep  affliction,  the  peace  and 
resignation  which  have  been  vouchsafed  me  in  return  for  my 
prayer  for  divine  help ;  not  always  in  my  own  way,  but 
ever,  as  it  eventually  proved,  in  the  very  best  way  for  my 
good." 

"  Dithy,  you  never  have  yet  been  tried  in  your  tenderest 
point.  You  have  had  trouble, —  great  trouble  for  a  child  like 
you.  But  suppose  you  thought  yourself  in  possession  of  a 
fortune.  You  had  the  means  of  doing  well  for  others  and 
yourself.  Everybody  admired  you,  because  you  were  so  for- 
tunate. But  you  loved  one  more  than  all,  because  you 
believed  him  worthy  of  your  love.  You  should  suddenly  lose 
your  fortune ;  in  consequence  of  which  event  your  friends 
knew  you  no  more,  and  he  whom  you  loved  deserted  you. 
How,  then,  would  you  feel  ?  " 

"  Wherefore  do  you  talk  so  strangely  to-night,  dear  uncle  ?  " 
inquired  Edith,  paling  with  a  sudden  suspicion  of  hidden 
meaning  in  his  words. 

"  I  may  as  well  toll  you  about  it  first  as  last,"  he  returned ; 
"  though  the  Lord  knows  I  don't  like  to." 

"  About  what  ?  "  continued  Edith,  anxiously. 

"  Your  law-case  has  come  on  again,  and  —  " 

"  It  has  not  yet  been  decided  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  was  in  court,  and  heard  the  whole." 


476  EDITH    HALE. 

Edith  clasped  her  hands  upon  her  uncle's  knee,  and  looked 
upon  him  with  all  the  anxiety  of  her  soul  in  her  face ;  but 
she  could  not  ask  the  important  question  —  how  her  case  had 
resulted. 

"  Dear  child,"  said  her  uncle,  taking  her  hands  within  his 
own,  "  I  feel  very  sorry  for  you." 

Her  eyes  fell,  for  she  knew  now  that  she  had  lost  her 
cause. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  you  have  divined  the  truth ;  the  deci- 
sion has  gone  against  you." 

Edith  uttered  no  response ;  but  her  whole  frame  trembled 
violently,  while  her  uncle  drew  her  nearer  to  himself,  and  said  : 
"  But  don't  lay  it  to  heart,  Dithy  ;  we  shall  live  some  way. 
I  have  got  two  whole  hands,  if  not  feet ;  and,  while  I  can 
earn  a  dollar,  you  shall  share  it  with  me.  I  knew,  when 
I  first  met  you  to-night,  that  you  had  not  heard  of  it, 
though  I  supposed  your  lawyer  would  have  sent  you  word." 

"  When  was  it  decided  ?  "  asked  Edith. 

"  Yesterday." 

"  And  a  whole  day  has  passed  since  !  "  exclaimed  Edith, 
bitterly. 

"  I  expected  you  every  hour  to-day  to  come  to  me,  or  I 
should  have  seen  you  before,"  said  her  uncle. 

"  I  refer  to  Mr.  Oliver,"  said  Edith,  "  who  told  me,  the 
last  time  I  saw  him  a.t  his  office,  that,  as  soon  as  the  case 
was  decided,  he  would  come  in  person  to  let  me  know.  And, 
although  I  had  refused  to  see  him  here  before,  I  consented 
that  he  should  come  then." 


EDITH    HALE.  477 

"  This  man  is  unworthy  of  you,"  said  her  uncle,  impa- 
tiently, "  and  I  am  glad  he  has  shown  himself  in  his  true 
character  of  fortune-hunter." 

"  Was  not  the  case  well  conducted  by  him  ? "  pursued 
Edith. 

"  Yes  ;  he  pleaded  remarkably  well,  I  should  say,  to  give 
every  devil  his  due." 

"  Please,  uncle,  don't  speak  thus  of  Hugh  Oliver.  He  has 
been  a  good  friend  to  me ;  and,  if  he  forsakes  me  now,  I  can- 
not forget  his  past  kindness,"  said  Edith. 

"  He  'U  forget  his  kindness,  now  you  have  lost  your  fortune," 
said  her  uncle. 

"  I  have  seen  so  many  bitter  troubles,"  almost  groaned 
Edith,  "  it  is  very  hard  to  bear  this.  I  must  go  alone ;  you 
will  excuse  me  this  once,  dear  uncle,  I  know." 

"  Well,  Dithy,"  said  he,  rising  to  leave,  "  I  '11  come  and 
see  you  again  soon,  and  help  you  lay  your  plans  for  the  future. 
Keep  up  a  good  heart,  dear  child,"  he  concluded,  kissing  her, 
affectionately. 

Edith  was  too  much  troubled  to  say  more.  Her  heart  was 
full  to  breaking. 

She  went  to  the  solitude  of  her  own  room,  but  not  to  weep. 
Edith  had  naturally  a  temperament  of  rebellious  passions  ; 
the  accustomed  loveliness  and  serenity  of  her  manner  were 
the  result  of  long  and  careful  self-government,  by  the  influ- 
ence of  her  mother,  and  the  higher  principle  of  her  life. 
When  such  fierce  trial  came,  it  was  well  that  she  had  this 
trust,  of  which  she  had  spoken  to  her  uncle. 


478  EDITH     HALE. 

Hour  after  hour  she  walked,  while  she  struggled  with  her 
sorrow,  every  step  beating  the  knell  of  her  hopes,  so  late 
brilliant  and  fervid,  till  all  around  her  had  subsided  into  the 
pulseless  silence  of  the  night.  Then  she  looked  forth  from 
her  window,  through  which  the  moon  shone  in  long,  spectral 
lines,  and  questioned  if  the  dead,  whom  she  had  loved  on 
earth,  were  looking  down  in  pity  on  her  now.  She  thought 
of  the  friend  of  her  youth,  the  gentle,  affectionate  Mary, 
and  how  tranquil  she  was  now,  freed  from  the  conflict  of 
life. 

"  0  !  that  I,  too,  had  died  and  gone  home  then !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  A  death  fearful,  awful,  like  hers,  which  endured 
but  for  a  moment,  is  nothing  to  a  life  like  mine !  " 

She  remembered  she  had  spoken  unworthily  of  herself,  and 
she  wept  for  the  first  time  since  the  knowledge  of  her  woe. 
Words  of  hope  and  consolation  flowed  on  the  tide  of  her  grief, 
and  gradually  the  unrest  of  her  soul  gave  place  to  peace. 
As  in  the  Indian  myth,  the  spirits  of  singing  stars,  who  make 
melody  upon  the  strings  of  the  air  in  the  silent  time  of  night, 
angels  whispered  to  her  in  harmony.  The  church-clock  struck 
the  hour  of  midnight,  but  she  knew  it  not,  for  she  was  lost  in 
prayer. 

When  the  moon  had  gone  down  she  lighted  her  lamp,  and, 
taking  a  little  book  given  her  by  her  mother,  which  was  a 
compendium  of  select  passages  of  Scripture,  she  read  words  as 
sweet  as  the  little  book  in  the  vision.  Thus  she  sought  con- 
solation, till  the  bitterness  of  the  first  overwhelming  draught 


EDITH     HALE.  4V  9 

of  her  cup  had  passed.  And  then,  like  the  white-robed  4*jgels 
which  stood  before  the  Lamb,  there  was  a  palm  in  her  hand ! 

At  last  she  fell  asleep,  with  praises  in  her  heart. 

The  hours  of  the  next  day  moved  on  iron  hinges.  It  was 
the  Sabbath,  and  the  silence  of  the  time  left  Edith  unmolested 
in  her  reflections. 

In  the  afternoon,  she  was  considering  whether  she  were 
able  to  attend  church,  when  she  was  informed  that  her  uncle 
waited  to  see  her.  She  went  to  him  with  surprise,  for  she 
knew  that  visitors  were  not  permitted  there  on  the  Sab- 
bath. 

"  I  felt  troubled  about  you,  dear  child,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
could  not  stay  away  after  what  passed  last  night.  So,  being 
your  uncle,  and  representing  it  was  a  very  urgent  case,  I  got 
in  to  see  you.  Such  rules  as  these  places  have  !  "  he  added, 
impatiently ;  "  I  wonder  they  don't  teach  you  to  think  by 
rule  ! " 

"  They  do,  uncle,"  replied  Edith,  with  simplicity,  "  but 
you  must  be  aware  of  the  necessity  of  rules  in  — " 

"  I  am  aware  of  no  such  thing !  "  he  interrupted ;  "  I  have 
come  to  get  you  to  go  out  with  me." 

"  Where,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Anywhere,  so  that  you  go  out.  You  must  have  a  change 
of  air  and  scene.  I  knew  you  would  not  walk  to-day  unless 
I  made  you."  • 

"  To  walk,  except  to  and  from  church,  is  against  the  rule 
here,"  replied  Edith. 

"  The  rule  again !     I  tell  you  that  you  must  and  shall  go  ! 


480  EDITH     HALE. 

You  look  as  pale  and  as  cold  as  snow,  here  on  this  bland  sum- 
mer day.  You  will  die,  in  this  way !  " 

"  I  can  go  with  you,"  said  Edith,  after  a  later  reflection, 
"  if  you  will  agree  to  accompany  me  to  church.  That  will 
suit  me  and  the  rules  here." 

"  But  not  me !  "  said  her  uncle,  decidedly.  "  I  have  not 
been  inside  of  a  synagogue,  a  chapel,  or  a  steeple-house,  since 
I  landed  on  these  shores." 

"  Well,  I  cannot  walk  with  you  on  any  other  condition," 
said  Edith,  "  and  I  should  like  to  go  to  church  with  you  very 
much,  dear  uncle.  You  can  scarcely  refuse  me  this  pleasure?  " 
she  added,  pleadingly. 

"  Be  it  so  then ! "  replied  her  uncle,  with  a  round  oath ; 
"  but  I  'd  as  willingly  stand  on  one  foot  till  I  had  made  a  hole 
in  a  rock,  as  the  Mussulmans  say  Adam  did,  or  kiss  the  Pope's 
great  toe  a  hundred  times,  as  to  go  to  one  of  your  churches 
and  be  obliged  to  hear  a  priest  let  off  his  stuff!  " 

They  decided  upon  going  to  the  neighboring  city,  that  the 
walk  might  be  as  long  as  possible.  Edith  demurred  a  little 
on  account  of  her  uncle's  lameness ;  but  he  said  nothing 
would  hurt  him  that  day,  only  going  inside  of  a  meeting- 
house. 

Edith  led  the  way  to  a  church  into  which  she  had  sometimes 
gone  when  she  resided  in  that  vicinity.  The  fervency  and 
power  of  the  preacher  had  always  absorbed  her  attention, 
and  she  was  anxious  that  her  uncle  might  receive  a  favorable 
impression. 

They  were  left  to  remain  some  time  in  the  vestibule,  for 


EDITII     UALE.  481 

their  plain  exterior  failed  to  attract  the  notice  of  the  Bex- 
ton.  At  length,  after  many  others  had  been  more  fortunate, 
and  conducted  to  the  higher  seats,  they  -were  shown  to  a  back 
pew,  in  which  sat  *ome  very  queer  and  inferior  looking  people. 
For  a  moment  Edith's  brow  flushed  with  pain,  but  better 
thoughts  succeeded.  Her  uncle  dropped  his  head  upon  his 
cane,  and  seemingly  fell  asleep.  The  sound  of  the  organ  did 
not  arouse  him  from  his  position,  as  Edith  had  hoped;  neithei 
did  the  rising  of  the  great  congregation.  He  remained  like 
one  who  is  determined  to  make  the  best  of  an  infliction  till  it 
is  fairly  through. 

The  preacher  arose,  and,  in  his  simple,  impressive  manner, 
without  preface  or  preamble,  announced  his  text.  In  the  voice 
of  the  speaker  it  was  a  poem,  set  to  a  melodious  strain.  He 
had^not  spoken  long  before  Edith  saw  that  her  uncle  was 
struggling  within  himself  against  the  words  he  heard ;  for  he 
moved  uneasily  upon  his  seat,  and  he  pulled  his  long  beard 
impatiently.  Whether  he  or  the  preacher  -would  obtain  the 
mastery  was  the  question.  As  the  speaker  proceeded,  unfold- 
ing treasure  after  treasure,  new  and  old,  and  interspersing  all 
with  a  beauty  and  pathos  which  few  could  hear  insensibly, 
Edith  saw  with  pleasure  that  her  uncle  had  become  as  atten- 
tive as  even  she  could  desire.  An  unusually  striking  and 
effective  application  had  brought  him  upright,  and  lighted  his 
dark,  stern  face  with  interest. 

When  the  preacher  had  concluded  his  discourse,  and  called 
the  people  to  prayer,  the  old  man  arose  and  remained  rever- 
ently, as  in  unconscious  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the  place. 
41 


482  EDITH     HALE. 

At  the  close  of  the  exercises,  Edith  was  somewhat  surprised, 
on  turning  to  leave  the  house,  to  find  that  her  uncle  was  not 
disposed  to  go. 

"  I  came  in  to  please  you,  and  now  you  must  stay  to  please 
me,"  he  said. 

When  the  congregation  had  nearly  all  left  the  house,  he 
informed  Edith  that  he  was  going  to  speak  to  "  that  priest." 
She  believed  he  was  beside  himself,  but  she  durst  not  offer  any 
remonstrance.  Anxiously  she  saw  him  hobbling  up  the  aisle 
toward  the  pulpit,  every  uneven  and  heavy  step  sounding 
loudly  through  the  empty  house,  and  his  odd,  rough  exterior 
contrasting  forcibly  with  that  of  the  divine.  She  well-nigh 
repented  that  she  had  come  now. 

The  preacher  met  the  old  man  with  evident  curiosity  and 
surprise,  for  such  an  encounter  was  not  familiar  to  him.  Edith 
was  too  distant  to  hear  the  conversation,  but  she  was  reas- 
sured when  she  saw  that  her  uncle  was  received  graciously. 
In  reply  to  his  words,  the  divine,  ordinarily  grave  and  some- 
what reserved,  spoke  to  him  with  interest,  even  with  defer- 
ence. Her  uncle  did  not  detain  him  long,  and  as  he  turned 
away  Edith  saw  him  transfer  a  small  package  from  his  pocket 
to  the  hand  of  the  minister,  with  a  hasty  explanation. 

When  Edith  was  joined  by  her  uncle,  and  they  were  fairly 
by  themselves  in  the  street,  she  inquired  minutely  of  the  inter- 
view. 

"  I  went  to  him  for  the  purpose,"  said  he,  "  of  seeing  how 
a  man  of  his  fine  black  cloth  would  meet  an  odd  old  fellow, 


EDITH     HALE.  483 

like  me.  I  wanted  to  know  if  he  would  carry  out  his  religion, 
which  he  talks  so  smoothly  about." 

"  And  you  were  not  disappointed  ?  "  said  Edith. 

"  No !  "  he  said,  with  an  oath,  which  was  too  foreign  to  be 
interpreted ;  "  that  is  as  good  as  a  priest  can  be.  If  he  can 
stand  such  a  test  as  I  put  him  to,  he  will  do  ;  he  is  sea-worthy 
and  heaven-worthy.  He  asked  me  to  come  and  hear  him 
again,  and  call  on  him  at  his  residence." 

"  What  was  it  you  gave  him,  as  you  left  him,  if  you 
please  ?  " 

"  Did  you  see  that  ? "  replied  the  old  man,  now  some- 
what embarrassed.  "  He  had  done  so  well,  I  wanted  to  give 
him  something.  But,  curse  my  poverty  !  I  had  only  a  few 
old  papers  in  my  pocket,  which  I  brought  from  abroad. 
They  were  curious  prayers  of  the  pagans,  and  some  written 
charms,  &c.,  which  I  thought  he  might  like  to  look  at,  and 
perhaps  use  at  some  time  in  his  figurations." 

At  this  moment  Edith's  attention  was  arrested  by  the 
appearance  of  a  lady  who  was  approaching  them  upon  the 
same  side  of  the  street.  She  was  attired  in  great  splendor, 
and  her  handsome,  haughty  face  was  radiant  with  smiles  as 
she  glanced  up  into  the  face  of  her  companion,  whom  Edith 
recognized  with  painful  agitation. 

"  Observe  these  people  who  are  meeting  us,"  she  said  to 
her  uncle,  in  a  low,  excited  voice. 

Both  the  lady  and  gentleman  passed  them  without  looking 
in  their  direction,  although  the  lady  was  obliged  to  draw 


484  EDITH     HALE. 

away  her  superb  garments  to  prevent  them  from  brushing 
those  of  Edith. 

"What  is  all  this?"  asked  her  uncle,  directly.  "Child! 
you  tremble  like  a  wounded  bird !  " 

"  Did  you  not  see  him  ?  "  said  Edith. 

"  See  who?  I  noticed  only  the  woman  dressed  out  like  a 
flaunting  sultana." 

"  The  gentleman  was  Hugh  Oliver,  and  he  was  walking 
with  Hada  Regleton,  your  sister's  oldest  daughter." 

"  What  was  he  walking  with  her  for?"  asked  her  uncle, 
angrily. 

"  I  can't  tell !  "  answered  Edith,  endeavoring  to  control  her 
emotion ;  "  the  report  is  probably  true  that  there  is  an  engage- 
ment existing  between  them." 

"  The  fool !  "  responded  her  uncle ;  "  he  thinks  to  get 
money  there,  but  he  is  mistaken.  I  have  learned  that  Regie- 
ton  is  on  the  verge  of  ruin.  But,  if  Oliver  has  a  mind  to 
choose  such  a  thing  as  that,  let  him  take  his  chance.  He  will 
see  his  blunder  when  it  is  too  late." 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

EDEN. 

THE  next  morning,  the  angel  of  care  rolled  away  the  stone 
before  the  door  of  another  week,  through  which  hastened 
madly  the  renewed  bustle  and  toil  of  life.  Edith  could  not 
avoid  reflecting  upon  the  future  which  now  frowned  so  gloom- 
ily before  her.  The  thought  that  she  was  once  more  thrown 
upon  her  own  resources  in  a  cold  and  indifferent  world  com- 
pelled her  to  consider  the  course  which  she  must  pursue, 
notwithstanding  the  engrossing  nature  of  her  present  duties. 

Before  the  close  of  the  morning,  she  was  summoned  to  the 
drawing-room,  to  meet  a  gentleman.  The  messenger  left  her 
before  she  had  inquired  the  name  of  her  visitor ;  but  her 
heart  whispered  it  was  Hugh  Oliver,  who  had  come  at 
last. 

"  After  all,"  she  said  to  herself,  "he  wishes  only  to  return 
my  papers,  and  consummate  all  business  between  us." 

But  the  thought  that  Oliver  might  be  waiting  for  her  in- 
spired her  with  thrilling  emotion,  succeeded  by  a  deathly 
weight  of  sadness,  as  she  remembered  the  change  in  her  for- 
tune. When  she  reached  the  door,  she  was  obliged  to  pause 
41* 


486  EDITH     HALE. 

to  collect  herself;  for  her  whole  frame  trembled,  and  she  felt 
the  blushes  settling  into  deepness  upon  her  cheeks. 

Unclosing  the  door,  at  length,  she  entered  with  hesitancy, 
when  she  perceived  that  Oliver  was  not  there.  Her  heart 
turned  to  ice,  and,  notwithstanding  every  effort,  the  tears 
rushed  to  her  eyes.  Instead  of  the  one  whom  more  than  all 
others  she  wished  to  see,  awaited  a  gentleman  of  sixty -five 
winters,,  smiling  and  benevolent  —  one  of  the  officials  of  the 
trustees  of  that  institution. 

"Are  you  ill,  this  morning,  Miss  Hale?"  he  inquired, 
directly. 

Edith  faltered  an  excuse  for  her  appearance ;  but  soon  re- 
covered herself,  as  the  gentleman  was  an  old  friend  who  had 
shown  her  much  kindness,  and  she  could  scarcely  have  been 
better  repaid  for  her  disappointment.  He  had  come  to  invite 
her  to  accept  a  vacant  situation  in  the  board  of  teachers  for 
the  next  term. 

"  Several  applications  have  been  made,"  he  said  ;  "  among 
which  is  that  of  the  Rev.  Hyliscus  Crabtree,  of  Birhampton, 
in  behalf  of  his  daughter,  who  is  in  the  same  class  with  you ; 
but  we  unite  in  giving  you  our  preference."' 

"  I  am  very  grateful,  sir,  for  your  offer  ;  and  I  will  exert 
myself  to  discharge  the  duties  expected  of  me." 

At  this  moment  she  discovered  a  gentleman  entering  the 
room,  his  face  partially  averted ;  but  she  knew  him  at  once.  She 
stopped  in  surprise.  The  trustee  was  bowing  himself  out ;  but 
she  was  sadly  inattentive.  She  saw  nothing,  remembered  noth- 
ing, now,  but  the  presence  of  Hugh  Oliver.  The  door  closed. 


EDITH     HALE.  487 

"  Miss  Hale,"  said  Oliver,  rising,  and  now  looking  fully 
upon  her  with  his  piercing  eyes,  "  I  regret  that  I  have  sought 
you  so  unseasonably.  It  seems  that  I  have  come  here  to  wit- 
ness yotir  acceptance  of  an  offer  of — " 

He  could  not  conclude  his  words ;  for  he  saw  a  new  light 
in  Edith's  eyes,  which  baffled  his  penetration.  Notwithstand- 
ing her  contending  emotions,  she  was  smiling  so  that  her 
whole  face  was  lighted  with  humor. 

"  I  have  some  curiosity  to  know  what  these .' duties  '  are, 
which  you  promise  so  submissively  to  discharge,"  he  resumed, 
quickly  divining,  from  her  looks,  that  he  had  for  once  made 
himself  slightly  ridiculous  in  judging  upon  hasty  impressions. 
"  Is  he  a  widower,  with  as  many  responsibilities  as  those  set 
down  to  the  account  of  the  wife  of  tTolm  Rogers  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  submit  to  be  thus  questioned  by  you,"  said 
Edith. 

"  I  was  not  prepared  for  such  an  encounter  as  this,  when 
I  had  planned  a  meeting  with  you,  Edith,  after  what  has 
passed  —  very  different,  to  say  the  least." 

At  these  words,  the  smile  fled  from  Elith's  face,  succeeded 
by  a  look  of  keen  suffering. 

"  Miss  Hale,"  said  Oliver,  now  seating  himself  near  her, 
"  I  am  very  sorry  to  inform  you  that  I  have  lost  your  case." 

As  she  did  not  manifest  surprise,  he  continued,  "  You  may 
have  heard  of  it  before." 

She  bowed  assent. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  regret  the  decision,"  resumed  Oliver. 

Edith  started  now ;  for  such  words  from  the  man  in  whom 


488  EDITH     HALE. 

she  had  reposed  so  much  respect  and  confidence,  under  the 
circumstances,  overwhelmed  her  with  anguish.  She  looked 
upon  him  for  an  explanation ;  but  he  sat  examining  some 
papers  which  he  had  withdrawn  from  his  pocket. 

"  Dear  Edith,"  he  said,  at  length,  when  he  saw  the  tears 
rushing  to  her  eyes,  "  you  may  think  my  words  harsh  and 
unfeeling  ;  but,  had  this  contested  fortune  fallen  to  your  pos- 
session, I  could  not  have  told  you  what  is  in  my  heart  —  how 
very  dear  you  are  to  me.  You  would  not  have  believed  the 
truth  of  my  professions  of  love.  I  have  studied  your  char- 
acter sufficiently  to  know  this.  I  did  my  best  for  you,  as  it 
was,  and  trusted  that  time  would  vindicate  my  motives,  if  you 
were  successful.  But  I  pleaded  one  suit  in  vain  —  shall  it  be 
so  in  the  other  ?  " 

Edith  yielded  to  a  fresh  outburst  of  tears ;  for  such  words 
were  wholly  unexpected.  The  consolation,  late  as  it  came, 
was  doubly  sweet  now. 

"  I  should  have  sought  you,"  resumed  Oliver,  after  an 
embarrassed  pause,  "as  I  promised  you,  immediately  upon  the 
announcement  of  the  decision  in  court;  but  I  delayed  to  effect 
a  purchase  of  your  late  residence  in  the  city,  in  time  that 
nothing  should  be  disturbed  or  removed.  I  wished,  too,  not  to 
meet  you  with  the  unhappy  intelligence  of  the  lost  suit,  until 
I  could,  as  a  kind  of  offset,  give  you  a  little  surprise.  I  hoped 
to  have  settled  the  business  with  Sykes,  so  as  to  come  to  you 
by  Saturday;  but  he  was  so  obstinate  and  vexatious,  that  the 
bargain  was  not  concluded  until  this  morning.  And  here,"  he 
added,  producing  a  paper  from  his  package,  "  is  the  legal  in- 


EDITH     HALE.  489 

strument  which  makes  you  the  undisputed  possessor  of  that 
house  and  all  it  contains." 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,"  faltered  Edith,  not  well  know- 
ing, in  her  confusion,  what  reply  to  make. 

"  Nothing  can  be  plainer,"  said  Oliver.  "  I  offer  you  this, 
and  all  that  pertains  to  me ;  and,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  give 
me  your  heart  and  hand  in  return,  I  shall  consider  the  matter 
as  settled." 

"  I  have  heard  that  you  are  engaged  to  marry,  already." 

"  To  whom  ?  "  asked  Oliver,  with  a  puzzled  look. 

"  Miss  Regleton." 

"  Did  you  think,  ever,  that  I  would  marry  that  cousin  of 
yours  ?  Now  tell  me  the  truth,  Edith." 

"  May  I  ask  how  you  knew  she  was  my  cousin  ?  "  answered 
Edith.  "  She  did  not  tell  you  the  fact  ?  " 

"  Xo  ;  Mr.  Raymond  mentioned  it  to  me,  casually.  She 
has  spoken  to  me  of  you,  but  not  as  a  relative." 

"  Nor  as  a  friend,"  said  Edith,  with  decision. 

"  What  she  said  was  lost  upon  me  wholly,"  continued 
Oliver.  "  I  never  had  a  thought  of  marrying  Hada  Regleton, 
and  I  have  not  certainly  given  occasion  for  any  one  to  think 
so.  I  have  of  late,  especially,  avoided  her  as  much  as  possi- 
ble. Yesterday,  on  returning  from  church,  she  joined  me, 
having  left  her  father's  carriage  to  walk  that  way ;  but  I 
excused  myself  as  soon  as  it  was  convenient." 

There  was  another  pause  now,  broken  at  last  by  Oliver. 

"  Edith,"  he  said,  "  you  do  not  express  yourself  very  con- 
fidentially to  me.  Here  you  sit  as  silently  and  coldly  as  if 


490  EDITH     HALE. 

it  were  nothing  that  my  entire  happiness  depends  upon  your 
decision." 

"  My  appreciation  of  your  kindness  is  too  great  to  be  ex- 
pressed," replied  Edith,  with  much  emotion. 

"  Stay,"  said  Oliver,  drawing  her  to  his  heart ;  "  those  are 
not  the  words  for  which  I  wait." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  say  ?  "  ventured  Edith,  blush- 
ing under  her  tears. 

Oliver  whispered  his  reply,  while  he  pressed  his  lips  to 
hers,  in  one  long,  rapturous  kiss. 

It  was  a  moment  of  exquisite,  nay,  almost  perfect  bliss, 
—  such  bliss  as  is  not  often  known  on  earth.  If  the  world- 
ling be  disposed  to  laugh  or  growl  a  contemptuous  "  pshaw!  " 
having  never  known  such  love,  or  having  forgotten  it  as  one 
of  the  follies  of  his  youth,  let  him  pause  before  darkening  such 
golden  light  by  words  without  knowledge.  Such  a  scene  is  a 
reflection  of  the  first  love  of  Eden  —  a  link,  strong  and  bur- 
nished, which  extends  far  back  to  the  time  "  when  the  morning 
stars  sang  together." 

"  Xow,  dearest  Edith,  tell  me  all  about  that « widower,' " 
said  Oliver,  at  length. 

She  smilingly  complied. 

"  I  shall  not  let  you  accept  his  '  offer,'  "  commented  Oli- 
ver ;  "  you  will  have  other  '  duties '  for  nest  term.  So  just 
send  in  your  resignation  at  the  earliest  opportunity." 

"  I  am  not  certain  about  that,"  said  Edith. 

"  I  am  ;  for  you  must  live  with  me  in  our  home  by  that 
time  ;  at  least,  if  you  will  let  me  live  in  your  house." 


EDITH     HALE.  491 

"  I  must  not  omit  to  remind  you,"  said  Edith,  "  that  I  have 
an  uncle  who  has  been  unfortunate,  and,  though  not  exactly 
dependent  upon  me  at  present,  is  very  dear  to  me — " 

"  He  shall  live  with  us  ;  our  home  shall  be  equally  his  own. 
I  recollect  hearing  you  speak  of  your  affection  for  him,  and 
I  know  that  I  shall  also  esteem  him." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Edith,  affected  by  his  kindness. 

"  And  you  will  exert  yourself  to  discharge  your  duties  so 
that  I  may  not  repent  my  preference  in  your  behalf?  "  said 
Oliver,  jocosely  alluding  again  to  the  scene  which  he  had  par- 
tially witnessed. 

"  I  decline  to  promise,"  replied  Edith. 

"  But  not  by  and  by,  when  the  question  is  put  in  solemn 
form ! " 

How  much  longer  they  would  have  remained  thus  interested 
in  this  conversation  is  uncertain,  had  not  Edith  been  reminded 
of  the  necessity  of  her  presence  elsewhere,  as  it  was  in  the 
time  of  the  school  exercises. 

Oliver  reluctantly  took  his  leave,  reminding  Edith,  however, 
that  she  must  never  doubt  him  hereafter ;  to  which  she  con- 
sented, with  the  provision  that  he  was  not  to  allude  to  her 
"  offer  "  again. 

On  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  Edith  had  a  long  interview 
with  her  uncle,  in  which  there,  were  some  tears  shed,  a  few 
strong  exclamations  pronounced  on  his  part,  and  many  pleas- 
ant, hopeful  words  interchanged. 

"  Well,"  said  her  uncle,  when  he  had  heard  all,  "  Oliver 
has  turned  out  better  than  I  imagined.  You  have  had  a 


492  EDITH      HALE. 

pretty  round  time  of  trial,  Dithy;  and,  if  a  brighter  day  is 
breaking  over  your  young  head,  nobody  can  rejoice  more 
heartily  than  your  poor  old  uncle.  You  must  have  got  help 
from  something  which  I  know  nothing  of,  to  have  behaved  -<o 
well  through  the  scenes  you  have  passed  under  my  eys. 
expected  yesterday,  as  much  as  I  ever  expected  anything,  to 
have  found  you  crazy,  or  sick,  or  broken  all  to  atoms  some 
way.  But,  instead,  you  wore  the  same  old  smile,  even  after 
you  met  Oliver  with  that  dashing  sprig  of  Regleton,  only  a 
little  sadder,  it  may  be." 

"  I  take  no  praise  to  myself,"  replied  Edith ;  "  if  I  do 
anything  well,  it  is  done  in  the  strength  of  Him  who  has 
promised  to  help  those  who  trust  in  his  name." 

A  few  days  after  these  events  Edith  entered  the  seminary 
hall  at  the  close  of  one  of  her  recitations,  and  saw  in  the  desk 
of  the  principal  the  august  figure  of  the  Rev.  Hyliseus  Crab- 
tree.  It  cost  her  no  effort  to  recognize  him.  She  would 
have  known  him  years  afterward  without  difficulty,  for  he  had 
often  haunted  her  memory,  sleeping  and  waking,  since  her 
examination  before  the  school-committee  of  Birhampton. 

The  pupils  were  requested  to  give  attention  to  a  "  few 
remarks  "  by  the  reverend  visitor.  Thereupon  the  gentleman 
arose,  and,  looking  over  and  above  the  assembly  of  young 
ladies  with  one  of  his  loftiest  looks,  which  appeared  to  express, 
"  Did  ever  you  see  such  a  man  as  I  am  before  ?  "  he  began 
his  harangue.  Although  he  spoke  with  great  and  studied 
emphasis,  neither  bis  sentiments  nor  words  were  emphatic. 
He  was  deliberate,  but  it  was  the  deliberation  of  the  snail. 


EDITH     HALE.  493 

When  he  had  made  an  end,  after  wearying  all  his  auditors 
but  his  daughter,  the  young  ladies  were  dismissed  again  to 
their  several  classes.  But  Edith,  to  her  unfeigned  surprise, 
was  bidden  to  the  presence  of  the  Rev.  Hyliscus  Crabtree  and 
the  principal. 

"  We  sent  for  you,"  said  the  latter,  after  having  briefly 
announced  Edith  to  the  reverend  gentleman,  "  to  ascertain 
if  you  adhere  to  your  decision  not  to  accept  the  situation 
offered  you  as  a  teacher  in  the  institution.  Miss  Hale  was 
entitled  to  our  first  choice,"  he  observed,  by  way  of  explana- 
tion to  Mr.  Crabtree,  "  because  she  holds  the  highest  rank  in 
the  senior  class.  If  she  resigns,  the  application  of  your 
daughter  will  next  receive  attention." 

"  Xew  circumstances  render  it  necessary  for  me  to  decline," 
said  Edith;  "but,  if  I  may  be  allowed  on  this  occasion  to 
intrude  my  wishes,  I  would  add  that  I  hope  Miss  Crabtree 
may  be  successful  in  her  application  —  that  she  may  be  spared 
the  unhappiness  which  once  a  poor  girl  knew,  on  being  rejected 
as  an  applicant  for  a  school  in  Birhampton,  by  her  father." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Crabtree,  "  is  this  —  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Edith,  perceiving  she  was  recognized, 
"  I  am  the  one  to  whom  I  have  referred." 

"  I  had  no  idea  — - 1  — "  he  stopped,  with  a  very  red  face. 

"  Thanks  to  a  gracious  Providence,  and  to  kind,  noble- 
hearted  friencls,  among  whom  I  reckon  the  authorities  of  this 
institution,"  said  Edith,  "  I  have  been  favored  since  that  time 
with  blessings  far  exceeding  the  pain  and  mortification  I  then 
experienced.5' 

42 


494  EDITH     HALE. 

So  saying,  she  left  the  Rev.  Hyliscus  Crabtree  to  his  own 
reflections. 

The  next  time  that  Oliver  met  Edith  he  produced  a  letter 
from  his  uncle,  the  major,  who  was  highly  delighted  that  his 
nephew  was  about  to  be  married,  and  entirely  approved  his 
choice.  He  wrote  that  he  should  expect  Edith  to  become  his 
guest  at  the  expiration  of  her  engagement  at  school,  when  he 
hoped  his  home  would  be  prepared  for  her  reception.  As  his 
housekeeper  had  died  during  the  past  season,  he  had  been 
unable  to  supply  her  place,  and  his  house  was  at  the  mercy 
of  servants  at  present ;  but  he  should  make  new  arrangements 
immediately,  in  honor  of  her  visit. 

Edith  listened  to  this  thoughtfully,  and  when  the  letter  was 
concluded  she  said, 

"  I  think  I  cau  procure  a  housekeeper  for  your  uncle  who 
would  fill  the  place  admirably." 

"You  must  recollect  that  the  place  is  retired,  and  one 
accustomed  to  active  life  might  not  be  contented  with  such 
a  home,"  said  Oliver. 

"  I  will  manage  it,  and  inform  you  directly,"  said  Edith. 

When  Oliver  had  left  her,  Edith  went  to  Mrs.  Wellmont. 
Her  face  was  radiant  with  pleasure,  as  she  exclaimed, 

"  I  think  I  have  got  a  new  home  in  the  country  for  you, 
where  everything  is  beautiful,  quiet,  and  just  to  your  liking." 

Mrs.  Wellmont  looked  her  surprise  and  curiosity.  Edith 
then  proceeded  to  inform  her  of  all  the  plans  for  herself,  not 
omitting  her  own  contemplated  marriage. 

"  And  now,"  she  added,  "  if  you  will  only  go  there,  Mrs. 


EDJTH     HALE.  495 

Wellmont,  at  the  close  of  school  I  will  join  you  on  a  visit, 
and  shall  we  not  be  happy  together  in  that  pleasant  country 
place?" 

Mrs.  Wellmont  could  not  reply  for  her  emotion,  for  never 
more  forcibly  than  then  did  she  recall  her  words  to  her  son, 
when  he  had  written  affectionately  of  Edith  :  "  Where,  then, 
is  my  prospect  of  a  home  with  you  in  my  declining  years  ?  " 

Edith  thought  that  her  sadness  proceeded  from  a  memory 
of  her  dependence,  and  said, 

"  Your  duties  will  be  light,  merely  superintendence ;  and 
a  home  can  hardly  fail  to  be  pleasant  with  Major  Oliver.  I 
shall  take  care  that  you  be  recommended  rightly;  but  his 
former  acquaintance  with  your  son  will  be  your  highest  rec 
ommendation  to  him,  and  to  all  the  people  of  Waterbury." 

>'  Dear  Edith  !  "  returned  Mrs.  Wellmont,  with  tears,  "  I 
have  no  words  to  tell  you  how  I  value  this  kindness,  which, 
believe  me,  I  do  not  merit.  Nothing  could  be  more  pleasant 
to  me  than  such  a  home,  and  especially  among  those  whom  my 
son  so  well  loved/' 

"  Then  I  will  get  Hugh  to  write  to  his  uncle  at  once,"  said 
Edith. 

This  plan  proved  successful ;  and  Mrs.  Wellmont  was  not 
more  gratified  with  the  prospect  of  a  change  in  her  home 
than  was  Edith  in  its  accomplishment. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

LITTLE   IDDY   AND   HIS    MOTHER. 

THE  last  days  of  the  fall  of  the  year  bring  gloom  to  all, 
even  to  those  who  are  habitually  thoughtless.  The  air  is  per- 
meated with  a  chill ;  the  leaves,  but  late  so  brilliant,  lie  with- 
ered and  sere  upon  the  ground ;  and  all  nature  seems  to 
pause,  like  a  heart  in  the  foreboding  of  calamity.  The  clouds 
hang  over  the  earth  like  watchers  over  the  bed  of  the  dying ; 
they  watch  the  death  of  the  year. 

But,  if  we  have  hopes  warm  and  bright  for  the  approach- 
ing winter,  this  gloom  is  'chased  away  by  the  first  sunbeam 
that  glistens  aslant  the  icicles.  We  think  of  our  comforts 
and  pleasures,  and  are  thankful,  after  all,  for  the  cheerful 
cold  season.  Alas  for  those  —  the  many  who  have  no  com- 
forts or  pleasures  in  the  future  of  their  reflections — whose 
hopes  have  all  withered  and  died  like  the  leaves  !  So  thought 
Maria  Weston,  as  she  sat  in  her  low,  cold  chamber,  on  a 
gloomy  afternoon  in  November.  All  the  summer  and  autumn 
she  had  lived  upon  hope,  the  one  hope  which  had  clung  to 
her  through  such  poignant  trials.  Now  that  hope  was  gone. 
She  had  learned  a  tale  from  her  seducer's  own  lips  that  had 


EDITH     HALE.  497 

blotted  out  the  last  ray  of  light  in  her  heart.  He  was  already 
married ! 

Each  succeeding  hour,  which   brought  a  memory  of  her 
hopeless  sorrow,  settled  the  wild  excitement  of  her  soul,  which 

she  had  first  felt  after  the  knowledge,  into  a  strong,  deep  calm. 

• 

She  looked  forth  from  her  narrow  north  window  upon  the 

gloomy  earth  with  a  rigid  face,  for  the  tears  were  all  frozen 
to  ice  in  her  heart.  The  little  Iddy  nestled  to  her  bosom,  but 
she  heeded  him  not.  He  had  grown  to  be  a  beautiful  babe, 
with  large,  melancholy  eyes, 

"  Like  the  eyes  of  those  who  can  see  the  dead  !  " 

About  his  fair  face  twined  delicate  flaxen  ringlets,  like 
silken  tassels  around  a  tiny  ear  of  grain.  His  mouth  was 
like  a  rosebud,  within  the  petals  of  which  buzzes  a  honey-bee. 
But  Maria  thought  not  of  his  beauty  now,  for  there  was  no 
longer  beauty  in  anything  to  her.  She  thought  only  of  shame 
and  disappointment,  two  grim  phantoms  that  haunted  her 
•wherever  she  looked.  His  little,  soft  hand  wandered  over 
her  cheek  unheeded,  and  his  smile  brought  no  return. 

The  little  Iddy  had  no  toys  like  other  children,  neither  had 
he  ever  been  caressed  by  a  warm-hearted  grandmother  or  aunt ; 
and  so  he  knew  not  what  it  was  to  lie  in  the  downy  nest  of 
love,  and  open  his  ruby  lips  for  the  reception  of  choicely- 
selected  blessings.  Although  as  beautiful  as  a  pearl,  his  cradle 
had  been  no  golden  shell.  He  had  often  felt  cold  and  hunger, 
and  the  angel  of  tears  watched  by  his  hard  pillow.  His  father 
had  refused  to  provide  for  him  longer,  and  had  declared  to 
42* 


498  EDITH     HALE. 

Maria  his  intention  of  causing  him  to  be  removed  to  an 
asylum.  She  feared  to  leave  him  now  to  go  to  the  village, 
lest  she  might  return  and  find  his  place  vacant ;  for  so  had 
she  been  threatened  if  she  refused  her  consent  to  the  separa- 
tion. Her  babe  was  too  dear  to  her  to  endure  this  thought  for 
a  moment. 

Maria  had  failed  in  getting  sufficient  work  for  a  livelihood 
as  a  seamstress,  and  she  felt  her  disgrace  too  keenly  to  expose 
her  destitution  to  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Her  last  money  was 
gone,  and  her  room  was  cold  and  desolate.  The  winds  howled 
mournfully  along  the  chimney,  and  clattered  the  casements 
of  the  windows.  The  sky  was  lowering,  and  boded  a  storm. 
"When  Mrs.  Linn  called  her  to  the  evening  meal,  she 
answered,  as  she  had  frequently  done  of  late,  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  eat ;  and  so  she  remained  by  the  window,  and  watched 
the  coming  on  of  the  night.  Presently  she  descried  the 
lighted  lamps  in  the  homes  of  the  village,  which,  in  the 
glimmering,  snowy  air,  looked  like  the  lights  of  ships  at 
sea. 

"  How  happy  they  must  be  to-night,  in  their  pleasant 
homes  !  "  she  exclaimed  to  herself;  "  for  they  are  loved  and 
have  the  comforts  of  life,  and, -more  than  all,  they  are  not 
troubled  with  an  ever-present  sense  of  guilt,  —  at  least,  many 
of  them  are  not." 

Then  she  thought  of  one  house  in  the  village,  which  held  a 
heart  guiltier  than  her  own,  and  the  ice  of  her  heart  dissolved 
to  burning  tears.  Her  sobs  awoke  her  babe,  and  he  cried 


EDITH     HALE.  499 

loudly.  He  was  now  hungry,  and  his  little  hands  and  face 
were  pinched  and  blue  with  the  cold. 

Maria  hugged  him  to  her  bosom  under  an  old  shawl,  and 
carried  him  softly  until  he  slept  again.  Then  she  laid  him  on 
the  bed,  and  proceeded  to  light  a  lamp.  The  old  house-clock 
struck  slowly  and  solemnly,  but  never  so  solemnly  before 
to  her.  Those  sounds  called  to  her  soul  with  an  awful  dis- 
tinctness. 

Some  time  after,  Mrs.  Linn's  footsteps  were  heard  slowly 
ascending  the  stairs,  and  presently  she  entered  Maria's  room. 
She  held  a  candle,  and  a  few  sticks  of  dried  herbs,  which  she 
had  been  getting  in  the  adjoining  attic. 

"  I  thought  I  would  just  see  if  you  were  sick  to-night," 
,*he  said,  "  as  I  had  to  come  up  after  something  to  make 
some  tea  for  father.  He  don't  feel  so  well." 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  am  not  sick,"  answered  Maria. 

"  Is  Iddy  asleep  ?  " 

She  went  to  the  bed  and  held  her  candle  so  that  its  light 
fell  over  the  little  face.  Putting  down  her  herbs,  she  drew 
up  the  clothes  more  closely  about  him,  and  felt  of  the  hand 
which  lay  without  on  the  pillow. 

"  He  is  too  cold  here,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Linn  ;  "  you 
must  bring  him  down  to  our  fire,  or  he  will  freeze  to  death." 

"  I  would  rather  not,"  said  Maria ;  "  and  I  can't  afford 
to  keep  a  fire  here  longer." 

"  Well,  now,"  continued  Mrs.  Linn,  taking  a  chair  and 
pulling  the  folds  of  the  shawl  she  wore  together,  *'  something 
must  be  done  for  you  right  away.  It  won't  do  for  you  ani 


500  EDITH     HALE. 

that  poor  child  to  suffer  here  in  this  way.  "Whoever  the 
child's  father  is,  his  heart  is  like  a  rock,  or  it  would  melt  at 
the  very  thought.  Father  and  I  have  been  talking  about  it 
to-day.  You  must  tell  who  the  man  is,  and  then  legal  steps 
must  be  taken  for  redress." 

Maria  sat  with  her  eyes  fastened  upon  the  floor.  At  length 
she  said,  as  if  in  the  result  of  new  reflections,  "  You  shall 
know  all  to-morrow." 

"  It 's  of  no  use  for"  you  to  keep  silence  longer,"  said  Mrs. 
Linn  ;  "  my  heart  aches  for  you,  and  I  advise  you  the  same 
as  if  you  were  my  own  child." 

These  words  of  tender  compassion  fell  upon  Maria's  heart 
softly. 

"  O,  Mrs.  Linn !  "  she  replied,  in  a  tone  of  startling  dis- 
tinctness, "  could  you  know  all  I  have  suffered,  the  deception 
I  have  had  to  bear,  you  would  pity  me  more  than  you  do 
now.  I  am  a  poor  orphan ;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  you,  I 
should  be  an  outcast  to-night,  homeless  and  friendless,  while 
he  who  led  me  away  into  sin  would  live  on  in  luxury  and 
peace.  I  am  a  miserable,  ruined  girl ;  but  I  know  that  I 
have  been  cruelly  ruined." 

"  Poor  child  !  "  said  Mrs.  Linn,  wiping  her  eyes  under  her 
spectacles,  "  I  knew  it  must  be  so." 

"  In  the  last  great  day  all  will  know  it,"  said  Maria. 

She  now  arose  to  hush  Iddy,  who  had  become  partially 
aroused  by  their  voices,  and  thus  disclosed  to  Mrs.  Linn, 
behind  where  she  had  sat,  her  trunk  open,  and  the  articles 
which,  it  had  contained  laid  out  upon  the  floor. 


EDITH     HALE.  501 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  said  Mrs.  Linn.  "  It  is  too  cold 
for  such  work  as  that." 

"  I  wanted  to  look  over  my  things  to-night,"  replied  Maria, 
returning  to  them  hastily,  and  beginning  to  restore  them  to 
their  place. 

"  Don't  hurry  them  back  on  my  account,"  said  Mrs.  Linn. 
"  I  like  to  see  you  careful.  It  is  a  good  sign  in  young  folks 
to  keep  their  trunks  in  order." 

"  There  is  n't  any  good  sign  about  me,"  said  Maria  ;  "  I 

wanted  to  pack  my  clothes  because "  She  stopped  for 

her  grief,  and  bent  lower  over  her  trunk. 

All  the  articles,  some  of  which  she  paused  to  examine,  as 
if  recalling  old  associations,  she  replaced,  save  a  little  box  and 
Testament,  which  she  retained,  as  if  unwilling  to  shut  them  from 
her  sight. 

"  What  have  you  there  that  makes  you  so  sober  ?  "  asked 
the  old  lady,  seeing  Maria  look  within  the  box.  "  It' s  enough 
to  make  a  body  cry  to  see  you  look  as  if  you  were  taking  leave 
of  your  best  friend." 

"  Here,"  said  Maria,  discovering  the  contents  of  the  box 
to  Mrs.  Linn,  "  is  a  lock  of  my  mother's  and  father's  hair." 
She  then  opened  a  small  paper,  and  disclosed  a  tiny  silken 
curl.  "  This,"  she  continued,  "  I  took  from  Iddy's  head 
shortly  after  he  was  born." 

There  were  also  a  plain  gold  ring  which  had  belonged  to 
Maria's  mother,  a  piece  of  money  that  Mr.  Linn  had  given 
Iddy,  and  a  very  small  mitten  of  pink  yarn. 


502  EDITH     HALE. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  fairy  thing  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Linn, 
trying  the  mitten  on  her  thumb. 

"  I  knit  it  for  my  doll  when  I  was  a  little  girl,"  said  Maria. 
"  Alas  !  I  was  innocent  and  happy  then  !  "  she  continued,  with 
bitterness.  "0,  that  I  had  died  in  those  days,  before  I  came 
to  all  this  !  " 

Matia  took  the  box  again,  and,  before  closing  it,  looked 
once  more ;  but,  as  she  did  so,  her  glance  fell  upon  the  mirror 
on  the  under  side  of  the  lid.  She  started  wildly,  as  if  she 
had  seen  a  dead  face. 

"  This  Testament,'*  said  Maria,  when  she  had  become  more 
composed,  "  is  one  which  Edith  Hale  gave  me." 

"  That  is  a  blessed  girl ;  I  miss  her  sadly,"  said  Mrs. 
Linn. 

"  I  have  never  forgot  the  words  she  used  to  say  to  me," 
continued  Maria,  with  a  sigh  which  seemed  to  proceed  from 
the  depths  of  her  soul.  "  I  thought,  then,  when  she  warned 
me  against  the  consequences  of  some  of  my  ways,  that  she 
was  what  is  called  squeamish  and  prudish,  and  I  made  light 
of  what  she  said,  sometimes ;  but  now  I  see  that  she  was 
right,  and  I  was  wrong.  Those  things  seemed  nothing  then ; 
but  they  were  the  first  steps  which  led  me  to  ruin  at  last." 

"  You  are  quite  right  now,"  said  Mrs.  Linn  ;  "  some  girls 
think  it  is  smart  and  charming  to  be  pert  and  forward,  and 
they  are  lifted  up  with  attentions  such  as  they  ought  never  to 
receive  for  a  moment.  I  always  pity  them,  because  they 
cannot  see  what  is  the  result  of  such  conduct.  But,  when 
they  get  in  that  way,  it  is  useless,  generally,  to  say  anything 


EDITH     HALE.  503 

to  them.  They  think  kind  admonitions  only  old-womanish 
notions,  fit  to  be  ridiculed  and  then  forgotten.-" 

"  It  is  so  pleasant,"  said  Maria,  with  a  voice  of  deep 
emotion,  "  for  poor  girls  to  be  made  of  by  those  who  are 
higher  in  the  world !  And  they  are  foolish  enough  to  think  the 
flattering  words  are  all  just  what  they  seem." 

"  True,  true,"  said  Mrs.  Linn ;  "  I  feel  that  the  greater  sin 
lies  with  those  who  know  better,  and  take  pleasure  in  this 
ruin." 

"  0,  my  poor  soul ! "  groaned  Maria,  in  a  tone  which 
startled  Mrs.  Linn ;  "  could  all  such  persons  look  on  what  I 
have  gone  through,  and  then  see  my  heart  in  all  its  agony 
to-night,  they  would  shudder  —  they  would  • —  " 

She  stopped,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  one  point  of  the  wall 
of  the  room ;  her  colorless  lips  closed  under  her  teeth  sharply, 
till  they  were  stained  with  blood,  and  she  breathed  huskily. 

"  I  have  hopes  of  you,  Maria,"  said  Mrs.  Linn,  now  rising 
and  taking  her  lamp  to  go  down,  "  and  I  will  pray  that  a 
better  life  may  yet  be  yours." 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Linn  ;  and  I  wish  you  would  ask  Father 
Linn  to  remember  me  to-night  in  his  prayer,"  returned  Maria. 
But  her  voice  was  still  so  odd  that  Mrs.  Linn  looked  on  her 
half  surprised.  Maria's  face  was  turned  away,  so  that  she 
could  not  see  her. 

"  I  hope  you  will  feel  better  in  the  morning,  poor  child !  " 
concluded  Mrs.  Linn. 

"  I  hope  I  shall,"  returned  Maria. 

Mrs.  Linn  had  scarcely  left  her  door  before  a  heavy  groan 


504  EDITU     HALE. 

came  upon  her  ear.  Afterward,  that  evening,  she  heard 
Maria  walking  to  and  fro  in  her  chamber  overhead,  and  the 
sounds  fell  so  mournfully  upon  her  heart,  that  she  sat  by  the 
fire  and  wept. 

But,  when  the  hour  for  their  devotions  came,  the  steps 
ceased,  and  all  was  still.  Fervently  did  those  good  people 
remember  the  poor,  heart-trampled  girl  in  their  supplications 
before  the  God  of  all  mercy,  and  thus  peace  came  to  their 
own  souls.  After  prayer,  by  an  impulse  which  was  somewhat 
habitual  to  him,  notwithstanding  his  illness,  Mr.  Linn  broke 
forth  into  singing,  and  fell  upon  the  words : 

"  Rise,  my  soul,  and  stretch  thy  wings  ; 

Thy  tetter  portion  trace  ; 
Rise  from  transitory  things, 
Toward  heaven,  thy  native  place." 

The  next  morning  it  was  seen  that  a  light  snow  had  fallen 
during  the  night,  so  that  all  the  earth  was  clothed  in  white. 
The  naked  branches  of  the  trees  looked  toward  the  sky  more 
gloomily  than  before,  and  the  remnant  stalks  of  the  garden- 
bushes  bowed  themselves  low  with  their  burden  of  ice. 

Mrs.  Linn  looked  forth  from  her  bedroom  window  and 
thought  of  the  dead,  as  she  had  done  for  many  years  in  con- 
nection with  the  first  snow-fall  of  the  season,  because  her 
only  daughter  had  been  laid  in  the  ground  the  day  before  the 
first  snow.  As  Maria  did  not  appear,  as  usual,  to  assist  her 
in  her  morning  labors,  she  concluded  that  she  had  slept  late 
in  consequence  of  her  last  night's  excitement,  and  deferred 
calling  her. 


EDITH     HALE.  505 

Presently  a  neighbor  came  in  of  an  errand,  and  incidentally 
inquired  if  any  one  were  sick  there. 

"  No  ;  —  why  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Linn. 

"  Because,  I  saw  a  light  burning  in  one  of  your  chambers 
twice  in  the  night  when  I  looked  out.  And  the  first  thing 
this  morning  I  noticed  it  was  burning;  and,  if  I  am  not  mis- 
taken, it  is  n't  out  yet,"  he  replied. 

"  I  am  afraid  Maria  is  sick,"  said  Mrs.  Linn ;  "  she  looked 
miserably  last  night,  and  I  have  n't  heard  her  stirring  yet." 

"  You  had  better  go  and  see,  mother,"  said  Mr.  Linn. 

The  old  lady  ascended  the  stairs  very  slowly,  for  she  was 
troubled  with  her  rheumatic  difficulties  on  such  mornings,  and, 
reaching  the  top,  she  paused  to  recover  her  breath.  Then  she 
delayed  a  moment,  to  put  in  its  place  a  bundle  of  dried  herbs, 
which  had  fallen  to  the  floor  the  last  night ;  for  she  was  one 
who  never  could  pass  by  on  the  other  side  when  she  saw  any 
thing  out  of  order  or  requiring  her  care,  however  in  haste  she 
might  be. 

On  opening  Maria's  door,  she  found  that  there  surely  was 
the  light  burning  on  the  table,  but  so  feebly  that  it  went  out 
with  the  first  current  of  the  air. 

"  Are  you  sick,  this  morning?  It  is  late,  Maria,"  she  said, 
approaching  the  bed.  Xo  answer  being  returned,  she  brought 
down  her  spectacles  over  her  eyes,  and  discovered  that  Maria 
was  not  there,  neither  was  her  child. 

"  What !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  she  has  not  gone  !  I  thought 
it  was  strange,  last  night,  that  she  should  pack  her  things  so 
carefully." 

43 


606  EDITH     HALE. 

She  raised  the  curtain  to  admit  the  light,  that  she  might 
see  if  the  trunk  were  there.  But  now  she  stood  motionless, 
with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  a  particular  point  of  that  chamber. 
Her  face  was  as  pale  as  the  white  kerchief  crossed  over  her 
bosom.  Before  her,  suspended  from  a  spike  in  the  beam 
of  the  ceiling,  was  Maria,  the  little  Iddy's  head  falling  over 
her  neck,  so  that  the  silken  curls  shaded  his  face,  the  small 
bare  feet  held  within  one  hand  of  the  mother,  and  with  the 
other  the  little  form  drawn  closely  to  her  own,  while  against 
his  cheek  rested  her  rigid,  blood-stained  lips  !  The  rope  was 
fastened  around  the  neck  of  both,  and  the  death-agony  had 
been  shared  together ! 

Mrs.  Linn  paused  aghast ;  she,  who  had  so  many  times  been 
called  to  witness  varied  forms  of  woe,  was  never  moved  as  in 
that  moment.  But,  gathering  strength  to  reach  the  stairs, 
she  called  the  neighbor  to  join  her  quickly.  Her  voice 
revealed  the  mastering  fear  of  her  soul,  and  she  was  obeyed 
in  consternation. 

"  Be  calm,"  she  said,  "  and  cut  that  rope  as  quickly  as 
possible." 

He  drew  forth  his  knife,  but  he  could  not  advance ;  the 
spectacle  was  too  awful,  and  he  staggered  to  a  chair  for  sup- 
port. Mrs.  Linn  was  compelled  to  perform  the  office  herself. 
It  was  too  late.  Death  had  been  in  that  chamber  for  hours  ! 

The  word  of  alarm  spread  rapidly,  so  that  in  a  short  time 
many  of  the  neighbors  had  gone  in  with  pale  faces  and  hushed 
voices,  but  not  so  many  as  in  cases  of  ordinary  death.  Few. 
comparatively,  could  behold  that  horror-stricken  scene.  They 


EDITH     II  ALE.  507 

wept  at  home,  however  ;  and  parents  looked  upon  their  chil- 
dren with  a  warning  they  had  never  felt  before.  The  young 
people  felt  nervously  sad,  and  silently  regretted  that  they  had 
hitherto  regarded  the  erring  girl  so  coldly. 

On  looking  about  the  chamber,  one  of  the  persons  who  had 
come  in  discovered  a  paper  on  the  table,  covered  with  writing, 
and  evidently  left  there  by  design.  As  he  finished  reading  it, 
he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment,  which  arrested 
the  attention  of  all  within  hearing. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  inquired  several  voices. 

"  This  is  dreadful !  "  he  returned.  "  Who  could  have 
thought  it  ?  Now  I  can  believe  anything  !  " 

And  he  read  aloud  the  last  words  which  the  poor  girl  had 
written : 

"  I  cannot  live.  I  shall  take  my  dear  child  with  me,  that 
he  may  never  know  sin  and  shame.  The  name  of  his  father 
I  tell,  that  others  may  not  be  deceived,  as  I  have  been.  It 
is  MR.  LOOMEY.  I  forgive  him  now.  May  God  forgive  me, 
and  reward  all  those  who  have  been  kind  to  me  !  MARIA." 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

IN  the  sick  chambers  of  a  royal  household  in  Europe  are 
burned  tapers  of  the  candleberry  myrtle,  for  the  aromatic 
odors  which  they  emit,  permeating  the  atmosphere  with  a 
delicious  softness.  But,  in  the  sick  room  where  love,  pure 
and  fervent,  sends  forth  its  genial  light,  the  peace  which 
settles  over  the  heart  exceeds  all  ministration  to  the  senses.- 
In  this  light,  "  which  is  sweet  and  pleasant  to  the  eyes,"  we 
can  catch  glimpses  of  heaven. 

Such  had  become  the  sick  chamber  in  which  Edith  had 
been  called  to  attend  her  uncle  for  months  —  during  all  those 
brilliant  autumn  months,  for  which  so  many  plans  of  happi- 
ness had  been  sketched.  It  was  now  the  winter,  and  the 
earth  was  hoar  and  cold.  The  north  god  Tiller,  with  a  silver 
circle  surrounding  his  chin,  and  with  his  imperial  skates,  had 
come  forth,  and  asserted  his  dominion  over  the  Rain-valleys. 
But  Edith  looked  not  on  the  earth  with  sad,  regretful  eyes ; 
she  had  been  happy  in  ministering  to  her  uncle,  and  her  heart 
was  glad  when  she  remembered  the  salutary  effects  his  trial 
had  wrought  for  him.  His  rugged,  sceptical  nature  had 


EDITH     HALE.  509 

yielded  to  holy  influences,  and  all  things  were  now  to  him  as 
though  wearing  the  impress  of  God. 

On  one  of  the  bright  mornings  of  the  new  year,  he  said, 
"  I  have  been  thinking,  Dithy,  that  you  must  have  secretly 
got  out  of  patience  with  your  troublesome  old  uncle.  You 
were  enjoying  yourself  with  your  friends  in  the  country,  just 
in  the  blush  of  all  your  school  honors,  and  looking  forward  to 
your  marriage,  when  you  were  called  to  my  bedside  and  con- 
fined here,  till  even  you,  with  your  good  temper,  must  be  ready 
to  wish  I  had  died,  or  never  have  lived." 

"  Have  I  ever  shown  impatience,  dear  uncle?"  said  Edith. 
"  If  1  have,  it  was  more  than  I  felt." 

"  No,  Dithy,  you  have  been  an  angel  of  goodness  to  me. 
You  have  done  more  than  I  could  have  asked  —  and  less,  too, 
in  some  sense  ;  for,  when  I  have  requested  you  to  leave  me  in 
charge  of  a  nurse,  and  pursue  your  former  plans  for  yourself, 
you  have  not  heeded  me." 

"  As  soon,"  replied  Edith,  "  could  I  have  deserted  a  be- 
loved parent  under  such  circumstances." 

"  You  shall  not  be  troubled  more  with  me,"  said  her  uncle. 
"  I  am  gaining  health  and  strength  rapidly,  though  I  cannot 
expect  to  be  ever  young  again.  You  must  leave  me,  now. 

"  When  Oliver  pays  me  his  customary  visit  to-day,"  he 
added,  as  he  saw  her  look  of  surprise,  "  I  shall  tell  him  I 
will  keep  you  from  him  no  longer.  He  must  owe  me  a  grudge 
for  detaining  you  so  long ;  though,  to  do  him  justice,  he  has 
been  as  kind  to  me  as  a  man  could  ;  but  I  suppose  it  was  all 
for  your  sake." 

43* 


510  EDITH     HALE. 

"  We  will  never  be  separated,  dear  uncle,  unless  it  be  at 
your  own  preference,"  returned  Edith.  "  Hugh  and  I  have 
arranged  it  all  —  how  you  are  to  live  with  us.  But  I  will 
not  reveal  more,"  she  added,  shaking  her  head,  sagaciously. 

"  Well,"  said  her  uncle,  "  I  can't  understand  how  you  can 
feel  so  kindly  —  so  like  children  towards  me — "  His  voice 
failed,  and  he  was  silent  to  hide  his  emotion. 

By  and  by  he  fell  asleep,  and  Edith  made  her  fingers  fly 
with  a  purpose,  as  she  resumed  a  piece  of  work  she  was  pri- 
vately designing  to  shape  into  a  gift  for  her  uncle. 

A  few  days  later,  Edith  and  her  uncle  took  up  their  resi- 
dence in  their  future  home.  On  that  evening  the  marriage 
of  Oliver  and  Edith  was  to  take  place,  with  no  guests  present, 
save  Major  Oliver,  Mrs.  Wellmont,  and  the  clergyman.  Edith 
was  saddened  to  enter  the  familiar  rooms  once  more. 

"  Is  not  all  here  to  your  liking  ?  "  inquired  Oliver. 

"0,  yes,  your  arrangements  are  perfect ;  but  I  cannot 
avoid  thinking  of  those  who  are  gone,  with  whom,  so  late,  I 
shared  this  home.  Their  imprint  is  left  on  everything,  and  it 
breathes  a  sad  threnody  to  my  heart." 

"  If  we  see  that  those  who  dwelt  within. these  walls  before 
us,"  said  Oliver,  "  who  were  girt  earth-strong  with  wealth 
and  power  and  love,  were  as  nothing  before  the  power  of 
Him  who  holdeth  all  things  in  his  hand,  let  us  strive  to  walk 
humbly  before  God!" 

Edith  looked  up  on  the  face  which  of  all  others  she  most 
loved  and  feared,  and  felt  that  her  happiness  was  safe  in  his 
keeping.  But  this  assurance  did  not  bring  freedom. 


EDITH     HALE.  511 

"  Why  do  you  tremble,  my  bird  ?  "  he  said,  drawing  her 
nearer  to  his  heart. 

"  Because  — "  she  began  with  hesitation ;  but,  summoning 
her  natural  singleness  of  heart  to  her  aid,  continued,  "  there 
is  no  one  on  earth  who  causes  me  such  embarrassment  —  nay, 
downright  fear  —  as  yourself." 

"  Then  you  do  not  love  me,  or,  at  least,  but  imperfectly." 

"  I  have  ever  spoken  the  truth  to  you,"  said  Edith. 

Oliver  sat  down  somewhat  abruptly,  and  made  Edith  sit  by 
him  —  so  near,  notwithstanding  some  faint  struggles,  that  her 
dark  hair  shaded  his  face,  as  he  bent  his  head  to  hers, 

"  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you,"  he  said ;  "  only  a  simple  one, 
but  true.  There  was  once  a  poor  boy,  whose  parents  were 
both  dead,  and  he  had  scarcely  anything  but  himself  and  his 
mother's  dying  blessing.  He  went  forth  into  the  great  world 
alone,  and  with  a  heart  tremulous  through  fear.  He  was 
beset  with  temptations  and  sorrows,  and  day  after  day  la- 
bored closely  for  only  a  modicum  of  life.  But,  when  he  was  so 
weary  and  heart-worn  that  he  could  scarcely  keep  strength  to 
live,  he  felt  his  mother's  pale  hand  upon  his  head,  and  heard 
her  dying  words,  —  '  My  son,  be  ever  industrious,  and  faithful 
to  the  highest  dictates  of  your  conscience,  and  you  will  be 
blessed,  not,  perhaps,  in  your  own  way,  for  there  may  be  a  long 
night  first.'  There  was  a  long  and  painful  night ;  but  ever  in 
the  gloom  and  straitened  passes  of  the  way  he  heard  those 
words,  and  he  persevered  until  he  issued  into  the  clear  light 
of  day.  I  have  spoken  of  myself.  Can  you  fear  me  now, 
dearest?" 


512  EDITH     HALE. 

"  I  love  you  more  than  ever,  if  possible,"  answered  Edith, 
•with  tears ;  "  but  the  old  fear  remains.  It  is  well ;  for  a 
woman  was  made  to  reverence  him  whom  she  accepts  to  be 
her  companion  and  head  in  life.  I  believe  that  when  she 
does  not  feel  thus  love  is  not  fervid  or  strong  in  her  heart." 

"  You  little  metaphysician  !  "  exclaimed  Oliver,  "  talking  so 
demurely  and  oracularly  of  things  about  which  you  know 
nothing !  In  less  than  a  year  from  this  time,  you  will  be 
pulling  me  about  like  a  child,  who  knows  not  the  meaning  of 
the  word  reverence.  You  will  tell  my  faults  with  a  coolness 
which  defies  description,  and — " 

u  There,  now,"  interrupted  Edith ;  "  you  have  said  quite 
enough  of  what  you  know  nothing  about." 

"  A  woman  will  have  her  will  in  one  way  or  another ;  so 
I  suppose  I  may  as  well  make  up  my  mind  to  it  first  as 
last." 

"  Certainly,"  «rid  Edith,  merrily ;  but  she  was  prevented 
from  saying  more  by  an  imprisonment  of  her  lip?. 

Edith  now  escaped  as  soon  as  possible,  upon  the  plea  that 
her  uncle  was  waiting  for  her  in  an  adjoining  room  ;  and  she 
was  followed  by  Oliver,  who  could  not  resist  the  impulse. 

The  invalid  uncle  was  assisted  above  stairs  that  he  might 
see  the  apartments  which  had  been  especially  arranged  for 
him,  as  a  pleasant  surprise.  The  warm  south  sunshine  came 
in  between  the  damask  and  lace  curtains,  and  shed  through 
all  the  room  which  was  designed  for  his  parlor  a  mellow 
cheerfulness. 

"  Here  is  your  seat  of  state,"  said  Edith,  gayly  point- 


ED  IT  II     HALE.  513 

ing  to  a  capacious  chair,  that  looked  comfortable  enough  for 
a  monarch.  "  Hugh  made  this  purchase  on  purpose  for  you, 
though  I  assisted  in  the  selection." 

throne,'  "  said  her  uncle  ;  "  and  quite  too  good  for  an  old  man 
like  me,  with  a  traveller's  negligent  habits." 

"  But  what  are  these,  Dithy  ?  "  he  asked,  as  his  eye  fell 
upon  a  pair  of  beautifully-embroidered  slippers,  which  were 
set  on  a  velvet  cushion  before  the  chair. 

"  They  are  for  you,  dear  uncle,"  replied  Edith.  "  I  know 
they  will  fit  you ;  for  I  took  a  pair  which  you  had  worn  for 
their  model." 

There  was  a  covert,  mysterious  smile  upon  her  uncle's  face, 
as  he  held  them,  and  examined  them  admiringly. 

"  Very  fine,"  he  remarked,  at  length  ;  "  I  only  hope  they 
may  prove  as  fortunate  to  the  giver  as  did  the  glass  slipper 
to  Cinderella." 

"Do  you  think,  sir,  you  can  be  happy  here  with  us?" 
inquired  Oliver,  when  all  the  various  arrangements  for  pleas- 
ure and  comfort  had  been  displayed  to  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  dear  uncle,"  joined  Edith,  "  will  it  .scern  like  homo 
to  you  ?  " 

"  God  bless  you,  children  !  "  he  exclaimed  ;  but  he  could 
not  say  what  he  would.  He  sat  down  in  his  chair,  and  cov- 
ered his  eyes  with  his  thin  hand. 

"  I  am  weak,  yet,"  he  murmured,  after  a  pause,  "and  I 
can't  control  myself  as  I  could  once." 

Oliver  then  led  Edith  quietly  from  the  room,  divining 


514  EDITH     HALE. 

that  her  uncle  would  prefer  to  be  left  to  his  own  reflections  in 
that  hour. 

Shortly  after  this,  they  were  summoned  to  welcome  Major 
Oliver  and  Mrs.  Wellmont.  The  major  was  never  in  better 
spirits. 

"  Indeed,  I  feel  young  again,"  he  said ;  "  I  think  now  I 
shall  live  to  be  a  hundred,  at  least." 

"  Philosophers  are  best  when  they  are  old,"  said  his  nephew. 
"  I  believe  you  belong  to  that  class." 

"  Well,  those  of  your  profession  are  not,"  rejoined  the 
major ;  "  for  there  is  an  old  saying  that,  '  physicians,  like 
beer,  are  best  when  they  are  old ;  and  lawyers,  like  bread, 
when  they  are  young  and  new.'  But  physicians  are  undoubt- 
edly best  when  they  are  so  old  they  can't  practise." 

"  At  your  old  war  again  ?  I  expected  there  would  have 
been  a  truce  between  you  and  the  doctors  before  this  time," 
said  Hugh. 

"  Xever,"  replied  the  major,  with  a  flourish  of  his  arm, 
"  until  I  sleep  in  the  vaults  of  our  illustrious  ancestors  !  " 

"  What  if  they  should  abstract  your  body  for  dissec- 
tion ?  " 

"  Then  my  spirit  would  take  vengeance.  I  would  compel 
them  to  take  all  the  noxious  drugs  they  ever  mixed  in  their 
deadly  conceits.  —  But  I  came  not  here,"  he  added,  abruptly, 
"  to  talk  of  death  and  dead  bodies ;  rather  of  marriage  and 
the  living.  And  this  reminds  me  that  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you  in  private.  Mrs.  Wellmont,  will  you  retire  to  the 


EDITH     HALE.  515 

presence  of  Edith's  uncle,  while  I  remain  and  confer  with  my 
nephew  and  niece  ?  " 

After  the  major  had  concluded  this  mysterious  parade,  and 
was  left  alone  with  his  wondering  listeners,  he  subsided  as 
suddenly  into  embarrassment.  He  evidently  wished  to  say 
something  which  troubled  his  equanimity  unusually. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  smoke,  uncle,"  said  Hugh,  on  seeing  him 
produce  his  cigar-holder,  and  examine  it  abstractedly.  "  I  will 
show  you  where  you  may  be  comfortable." 

"  Xo,  you  graceless  boy,  you  know  I  don't  want  to  smoke 
now  !  You  are  trying  to  puzzle  me,"  he  replied. 

"  If  I  could  think  what  it  is  you  wish  to  do  or  say,  I  would 
assist  you  with  pleasure,"  continued  Hugh. 

"  By  the  way,''  said  the  major,  with  a  design  to  recover 
himself  before  he  proceeded  upon  the  business  in  hand,  "  I 
have  a  piece  of  news  to  tell,  before  I  forget  it.  As  I  was 
coming  to  the  city,  to-day,  I  found  an  old  acquaintance  from 

L ,  and  he  told  me  that  Mr.  Wellmont's  widow  that  was 

is  just  married  to  Mr.  Phanuel." 

"  Indeed !  "  said  Edith ;  "  we  heard,  some  little  time  since, 
that  he  was  about  to  marry  another." 

"  That  lady  gave  him  the  slip  before  going  to  the  altar, 
having  found  a  man  of  some  distinction  who  pleased  her  fancy 
better.  Mr.  Phanuel  lost  no  time,  then,  in  securing  Mrs. 
Wellmont.  We  Watcrbury  people  have  not  completed  tho 
erection  of  a  monument  over  the  grave  of  her  first  husband 
yet  in  our  cemetery,  and  it  seems  but  yesterday  since  he  died. 
But  all  this  does  not  reach  the  point,"  continued  the  major ; 


510  TDITII     HALE. 

"  you  see,  we  —  that  is,  the  elder  Mrs.  Wellmont  and  I  — 
have  been  thinking,  of  late,  that  it  would  be  a  fiue  thing  to 
have  another  wedding  take  place  with  yours.'' 

Edith  and  Hugh  exchanged  glances  of  heightened  sur- 
prise. 

"  You  know  we  have  no  minister  now  in  Waterbury,  foi 
that  man  Loomey  absconded  very  suddenly  after  the  death  of 
poor  Maria  Weston,  taking  Mrs.  Witherell  with  him,  it  js 
supposed,  for  she  has  not  been  heard  of  since.  But,  if  he  had 
remained  there  in  good  repute,  he  should  never  have  married 
me —  " 

"  Married  you,  uncle?"  exclaimed  Oliver. 

"  Well,  I  have  taken  the  cork  out  at  last,  and  I  may  as 
well  let  the  whole  run  out  now.  You  must  know  that,  before 
Mrs.  Wellmont  came  to  live  with  me,  I  was  getting  to  be  one 
of  the  lonesomest  bachelors  in  the  world.  Some  days,  the 
blues  were  so  thick  around  me,  all  I  could  do  was  to  sleep 
and  smoke.  I  had  no  heart  even  to  play  with  Sati,  or  go  out 
and  look  at  my  creatures.  But  when  she  came  things  changed 
at  once.  She  is  such  a  nice,  sensible  woman,  I  took  a  world  of 
comfort  talking  with  her,  and  reading  to  her  from  my  History 
of  Waterbury.  She  is  always  interested  in  all  that  I  am ; 
and,  what 's  more,  she  thinks  of  the  doctors  just  as  I  do."  The 
major  said  this  with  a  keen  satisfaction.  •  "  I  know  certain," 
he  continued,  "  because  she  was  taken  sick  once,  and  I  said 
nothing  and  offered  to  send  for  a  doctor,  but  she  would  not 
permit  it.  Then  I  felt  that  my  fate  was  decided." 

The  major  paused,  and  coughed  violently. 


EDITH     HALE.  517 

"  This  is  news,  as  good  as  unexpected  ! ;>  now  spoke  Edith. 

"  Is  the  lady  willing  ?  "  asked  Oliver  of  his  uncle. 

"  I  have  put  the  question,  and  she  says  she  will  never  feel 
justified  in  marrying  me  without  the  consent  of  Edith,  to 
whom  she  owes  so  much,  and  of  him  who  is  to  be  her  husband. 
These  are  her  very  words,"  said  the  major.  "  So  this  is  my 
business  with  you  both,  at  present;  though  I  think  it  is 
unnecessary,  for  I  have  arranged  things  so  that  all  my  prop- 
erty will  fall  to  you,  when  we  are  both  dead,  save  a  few 
legacies.  I  did  not  intend  to  help  you  when  a  boy,  Hugh, 
because  I  had  an  idea  that  I  myself  should  have  been  a  great 
man,  like  some  of  our  ancestors,  if  I  had  been  obliged  to  set 
out  in  life  without  a  dollar." 

"  I  think,"  said  Hugh,  "  this  contemplated  marriage  of 
yours  is  a  most  sensible  arrangement ;  and  we  will  all  consider 
it  as  settled,  if  you  please." 

Edith  went  for  Mrs.  Wellmont,  to  offer  her  hearty  congratu- 
lations. 

And  so,  that  evening,  there  was  a  double  marriage.  The 
clergyman  who  officiated  on  the  occasion  was  the  one  whom 
Edith  had  persuaded  her  uncle  to  hear. 

Directly  after  the  ceremonies  had  been  performed,  Edith's 
uncle  asked  to  be  heard  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  have  a  confession  to  make,"  he  began,  in  his  usual  man- 
ner, "  and,  as  a  priest  is  here,  I  shall  expect  him  to  shrive 
me,  though  what  I  have  to  say  is  to  those  whom  I  have  sinned 
against.  Ever  since  I  was  sick  it  has  been  on  my  mind,  and 
now  I  must  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  In  the  first  place, 
44 


51  EDITH     U  ALE. 

from  the  time  I  discovered  myself  to  you,  Dithy,  I  have  been 
guilty  of  lying,  almost  every  word  I  have  spoken." 

Edith  began  to  conclude  that  her  uncle  had  suddenly  lost 
his  senses. 

"  But  I  thought  I  had  a  good  reason,"  he  continued ;  "  for 
when  I  returned  home  to  this  country,  as  you  know,  Dithy, 
1  first  went  to  my  sister,  and  she  received  me  coldly,  because 
she  thought  I  was  not  wealthy.  I  was  so  wounded,  I  deter- 
mined on  trying  another  experiment.  I  said  I  would  see  if 
all  my  relatives  had  only  a  love  which  could  be  bought  and 
sold.  So  I  found  you  out,  and  I  tried  you  in  every  way  I 
could  think  of.  You  stood  the  test  nobly.  I  felt  so  much 
pity  for  you,  when  you  lost  your  law-case,  I  had  a  mind 
to  whisper  a  word  of  comfort  in  your  ear.  But  I  was 
prevented  by  two  reasons :  one  was,  I  had  a  curiosity  to  see 
how  your  religion  would  carry  you  through  such  a  trying 
time ;  and  I  also  wanted  to  prove  whether  your  husband,  that 
ia  now,  would  seek  you  again  after  you  had  lost  all  your 
prospects  of  a  fortune.  Both  of  you  exceeded  my  expecta- 
tions. Your  religion,  Dithy,  which  I  once  lightly  regarded, 
I  now  solemnly  declare  I  truly  reverence;  for  something 
more  than  human  strength  must  have  enabled  you  to  conduct 
with  such  faith  and  fortitude  through  the  severe  trials  of  your 
young  life.  That  this  grace  may  be  mine  henceforth,  to  fit 
me  for  life  and  death,  shall  be  my  daily  prayer.  Both  of 
you,  my  dear  children,  have  proved  yourselves  worthy  of  my 
entire  confidence.  And,  for  your  love  and  kindness  to  me, 


EDITH     II  ALE.  519 

when  I  appeared  only  a  poor,  old,  troublesome  creature,  you 
shall  be  rewarded  with  something  more  valuable." 

He  paused,  to  brush  the  tears  from  his  eyes. 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Edith,  "  arc  you  not  destitute, 
uncle  ?  " 

"  No,  child,  if  being  the  sole  possessor  of  at  least  a  half- 
million  can  entitle  me  to  any  other  name.  What  I  now  say  is 
true.  I  hope  all  my  deceptions  will  be  forgiven.  I  was  not 
lame,  even,  as  I  pretended,  though,  since  leaving  my  sick  bed, 
I  am  so  weak,  I  am  in  reality  unable  to  walk  firmly  now.  I 
thought,  if  I  pretended  to  be  so  poor,  and  did  not  work  more 
actively,  I  should  be  as  an  offence  even  to  the  best-hearted ;  so 
I  resorted  to  the  appearance  of  partial  incapacity.  I  had  not 
much  conscience  then  about  such  things,  when  I  had  an  end 
of  so  much  importance  in  view ;  though  I  have  ever  been  an 
honest  man  in  all  my  dealings  with  the  world,  and  whatever 
is  mine  has  been  rightly  obtained.  I  believe  all  my  preten- 
sions succeeded.  When  I  displayed  to  you,  Dithy,  those 
1  curious  stones  '  which  I  had  brought  home  with  me,  I  saw, 
at  a  glance,  that  you  took  me  at  my  word.  But  they  were 
diamonds  and  other  precious  stones.  The  large  red  one  is  a 
ruby  of  great  value. 

"  While  I  was  sick,  you  remember,  Dithy,"  he  continued, 
"  that,  on  summoning  a  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance  to  my 
bedside,  I  requested  you  to  leave  me  during  the  interview. 
Then  I  caused  you  to  be  legally  recorded  as  the  heir  of  all 
my  estate,  providing,  in  case  of  my  death,  that  you  should 
allow  a  moderate  annuity  to  your  aunt  and  her  children  during 


520  EDITH     HALE. 

their  lives ;  for  I  have  ascertained  that  their  once  handsome 
fortune  is  nearly  all  wasted.  Regleton  will  soon  die  of  delir- 
ium tremeus,  and  the  son  is  too  dissipated  to  long  survive 
his  father.  While  I  live  I  shall  take  care  that  my  sister  and 
her  children  do  not  suffer." 

Had  a  meteoric  stone  fallen  in  the  centre  of  that  room, 
there  could  not  have  been  more  surprise  depicted  on  the 
countenances  of  the  listeners  to  this  singular  development. 

"  I  think,  sir,"  spoke  the  clergyman,  at  length,  "  that  you 
deceived  me  once  scarcely  less  perfectly  than  you  have  others, 
when  you  came  to  me,  upon  the  conclusion  of  a  Sabbath  service, 
and  gave  me  what  you  said  were  prayers  and  charms  of  some 
heathen  nations.  On  returning  home,  I  found  the  '  heathen 
prayers  and  charms '  were  all  bank-notes.  I  hope  it  is  not 
unseasonable  to  make  this  statement ;  but,  as  confession  seems 
the  order  of  the  occasion,  perhaps  I  may  be  permitted  to 
'  confess  '  my  grateful  acknowledgments." 

"  Since  I  have  taken  to  reading  the  Bible,  of  late,"  returned 
the  old  gentleman,  "  I  find  that  among  the  trespass-offerings 
of  the  Philistines  were  five  golden  mice ;  and,  as  I  have  tres- 
passed against  you  in  this  deception,  I  will  now  make  you  an 
offering,  though  in  material  only,  corresponding  to  the  mice.'' 

He  gave  the  clergyman  a  purse  of  gold. 

"  Allow  me  to  say  that  there  is  one  truth  which  I  derive 
from  what  I  have  heard  here  this  evening,"  observed  the 
clergyman;  "  it  is  ever  the  best  course  to  act  from  principle, 
instead  of  self-interest." 


EDITH     HALE.  521 

"Then,"  continued  Major  Oliver,  "we  stand  a  good  chance 
to  get  back  both  principal  and  interest." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  clergyman,   "  I  think  that  has  been 
clearly  proved  here  on  this  occasion." 

All  assented  to  the  truth  of  this  precept  in  their  hearts, 
but  none  more  truly  than  the  mother  of  the  dead,  who  had 
once  been  actuated  by  another  and  more  worldly  motive. 
44* 


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A  Gift  Book  for  Young  People.  Edited  by  Clara  Arnold. 
Square  16mo.,  -with  Illustrations.  Price,  in  muslin,  60  cents; 
gilt,  90  cents.  - 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSOX,  4  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

TflE  FAVORITE  STORY  BOOK, 

Or,  Pleasing  Sketches  for  Youth.  By  Clara  Arnold.  Square 
16mo.,  with  Illustrations.  Price,  in  muslin,  60  cents;  gilt, 
90  cents. 

CHRISTMAS  ROSES  AND  NEW  YEAR'S  GIFT, 

A  Present  for  Young  People.  Square  16mo.,  •with  several 
beautiful  mezzotint  Engravings.  Price,  in  muslin,  60  cents ; 
gilt,  90  cents. 

A  series  of  books  ver\'  popular  with  children,  and  at  the  same  time  instructive 
and  full  of  good  influences. 


CHRISTMAS  HOLIDAYS  AT  CHESTNUT  HILL, 

By  Cousin  Mary.     Square  IGmo.,  -with  Illustrations.     Price,  in 
muslin,  50  cents  ;  gilt,  75  cents. 
"  A  book  that  will  brighten  young  faces." 

COUNTRY  LIFE  AND  OTHER  STORIES, 

By  Cousin  Mary.    Square  16mo.     Illustrated.     Price,  in  mus- 
lin, 50  cents  ;  gilt,  75  cents. 

COUNTRY  SCENES  AND  CHARACTERS, 

By  Cousin  Mary.     18mo.     Illustrated.     Price,  in  muslin,  38 

cents;  gilt,  62  cents. 

A  very  successful  author  in  this  walk  of  literature  is  "  Cousin  Mary."  Her 
kindly  heart,  genuine  lore  for  children,  and  her  pure  and  simple  style  make  he* 
books  very  attractive. 


ESTELLE'S  STORIES  ABOUT  DOGS, 

For  good  Boys  and  Girls.     "With  six  plates,  with  illuminated 
borders.     16mo.     Price,  muslin,  50  cents ;  colored,  75  cents. 

"A  chcri-e  collection  of  the  best  stories  of  dops,  which  cannot  fail  to  interest 
ami  delimit  every  young  admirer  of  this  faithful  animal."  —  Salem  Kegisttr. 

"There  is  a  !rraceful  beauty  in  the  externals  of  this  book,  and  an  interest  in 
its  niiitter.  which  will  make 'it  a  great  favorite  with  all  youthful  readers."  — 
Bmrjur  Wltig. 

'•A  very  handsome  gift  to  a  boy  or  girl  fond  of  that  noble  animal."  — 
quirer. 

"  A  charming  little  volume."  —  Troy  Budget. 


PHILLIPS,  SAMPSOX,  i  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  CHEERFUL  HEART, 

Or,  "  A  Silver  Lining  to  every  Cloud."     By  Estelle.     Square 
16mo.     Illustrated.     Price,  in  muslin,  50  cents;  gilt,  75  cents. 


jm. 

LITTLE  BLOSSOM'S  REWARD, 

A  Christmas  Book  for  Children.  By  Mrs.  Emily  Hare.  16mo., 
muslin,  finely  illustrated.  Price,  ob  cents;  gilt,  75  cents. 

"  This  is  a  little  beauty  of  a  book."  —  SAem  Gazette. 

"  These  stories  are  beautifully  written,  and  each  carries  \rith  it  a  moral."  — 
Keuipffrt  Mercury. 

"  A  charming  little  story  for  young  children."  —  Augusta.  Age. 

THE  CHARM, 

An  illustrated  book  for  Boys  and  Girls.  One  volume,  16mo. 
Embellished  with  five  Illustrations.  Price,  75  cents ;  full 
gilt,  $1. 


FRANK  AND  FANNY ;  A  RURAL  STORY, 

By  Mrs.  Clara  Moreton.     Illustrated  with  numerous  Engray- 
ings.     16mo.,  muslin.     Price,  50  cents. 


COUNTRY  SCENES  AND  CHARACTERS, 

Or,  Life  in  the  Tillage.  With  numerous  Engravings.  l(3mo., 
muslin.  Price,  50  cents. 

GIFT  STORY  BOOK, 

Or,  Short  Tales  written  for  Children.  By  Dame  Truelove  and 
her  Friends.  16mo.  Illustrated.  Price,  in  muslin,  38  cents  ; 
gilt,  62  cents. 

GOOD  CHILD'S  FAIRY  GIFT, 

Containing  Cinderella,  Bluebeard,  and  Little  Red  Riding 
Hood.  With  numerous  Illustrations.  16mo.  Price,  in  mus- 
lin, 38  cents ;  gilt,  02  cents. 

AUNT  MARY'S  STORIES  FOR  CHILDREN, 

16mo.    Price,  in  muslin,  38  cents  ;  gilt,  62  cents. 


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